CHAPTER 10
Prince Forge John of Fire Island
Before Grampa and his little company had recovered from the shock of winding down instead of up, the strange stairway gathered itself together, and, with a sudden jerk, shook them all off.
“Break ranks!” roared the old soldier, kicking out wildly with his game leg.
“I don’t want to break my ranks,” said Bill crossly. Tatters and Urtha were too startled to say anything and for a few seconds they simply fell in surprised silence. The hollow down which they were tumbling was wide and dimly lighted with a soft, spooky glow. The air was thick and heavy and they were falling much slower than Grampa and Tatters had fallen down the hollow tree. First fell Urtha, her flowery skirts fluttering gracefully around her; then fell Tatters, clinging to Bill with one arm and his red umbrella with the other; then the old soldier, his gun, drum, sword and knapsack rattling like a box full of marbles.
“I feel exactly like a butterfly. Are we flying, dear Mr Soldier?” laughed the flower maiden presently.
“No, my poor child,” puffed Grampa, staring down at her anxiously. “We’re falling!”
“Falling asleep?” asked Urtha contentedly.
“Depends on how we land,” groaned the old soldier, and suddenly remembering his last landing he snatched the wizard’s medicine bottle from his pocket.
“Is there anything on the label about falling?” panted Tatters, who was close enough to notice the old soldier’s action. Grampa held the bottle close to his eyes, and though reading while falling is one of the hardest things I know of to do, after a deal of squinting the old soldier read out the following: “For falling hairs, one drop in full glass of water!”
“But we’re not hares,” wheezed Bill indignantly.