“Why, just my own self,” smiled the little creature, flinging back her feathery hair.
“How do you blow? How do you blow?” shrieked Bill, falling in a heap beside her.
“He means how do you do,” puffed Grampa, laughing in spite of himself. “You’ll have to excuse him for he’s a weather cock and used to talking to Augusta.” Then as the little maiden still seemed puzzled, Grampa finished his sentence. “Augusta Wind,” chuckled the old soldier, with a wink that made them all laugh except Bill, who continued to regard the flower girl intently.
“Are you a Princess?” asked Bill, with his head anxiously on one side.
“No,” mused the little girl slowly, “I don’t think I’m a Princess, let—me—see. Oh, I remember now the old wizard telling the birds my name was Urtha, because I’m made of earth!”
“Go along with you then,” snapped Bill crossly. “We’re looking for a Princess.”
“Don’t mind him,” begged Tatters jumping up hastily.
“Tell us about yourself, Miss Posy,” cried Grampa, straightening his cap and feeling his game leg slyly. In the dance it had turned completely around. “I declare you’re the loveliest little lady I’ve met in all my travels.”
The roses in Urtha’s cheeks seemed to grow pinker at Grampa’s words.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she began softly. “I don’t seem to remember anything but this garden. I guess I just grew,” she finished with a little bounce that sent her skirts flying out in every direction.