“And whatever was in that gold watering can brought you to life. I believe you’re a fairy,” said the old soldier solemnly.
“No! No!” laughed the little flower girl, seizing a long trailing vine. “I’m just Urtha.” And using the vine as a skipping rope she flashed up and down the silver paths so swiftly that it made Tatters and Grampa blink just to follow her dancing steps.
“What are you going to do now that you are alive?” asked Tatters as she paused for a moment beside him.
“Just going to be happy in this garden,” replied Urtha with a little shake of her lovely fern hair.
“I wish we could stay too,” sighed Tatters, for he could think of no end of games he could teach Urtha, and even the Emerald City, he reflected, could not be lovelier than this enchanted garden. Grampa gave a start at Tatters’ words and, suddenly recalled to his duty, gathered up his gun and knapsack.
“It’s been a pleasure to know you, my dear,” said Grampa gallantly, taking off his cap, “but we’ll have to be marching on now, for we’ve a long journey before us.”
“Oh!” Urtha gave a little cry of dismay. “Didn’t you grow in the garden too?” Grampa shook his head and as quickly as he could told her how King Fumbo had lost his head and how he and Tatters had set out to seek it and the Prince’s fortune. Urtha was almost as much puzzled over a fortune as Bill. Indeed, the whole of Grampa’s story was confusing—for you see it was the first story the little flower maiden had ever heard. But Prince Tatters and the old soldier interested her tremendously. She touched Grampa’s medals shyly and could not admire Tatters’ patched and many colored suit enough. As for Bill, she blew him so many kisses that the embarrassed weather cock flew and hid himself in an oleander bush. Saying good-bye to dear little Urtha was a difficult business, but at last Grampa, with a very determined expression, shouldered his gun and Tatters reluctantly picked up his red umbrella.
“Come on!” shouted Bill, impatiently sticking his head out of the bush. “Come on, or we’ll never find the head, the fortune and the Princess.” As Urtha had not turned out a Princess he had lost all interest in her.
“But I’ll miss you,” sighed Urtha, and drooped so sadly against a tree that Tatters promptly fell out of line and began to comfort her.
“You won’t miss us,” said Grampa, looking uneasily at his watch, “you can’t miss people you’ve just met, you know.” The old soldier was faced with a problem the like of which he had never before encountered, and he was plainly at a loss to know what to do.