“I think you’re a fairy,” puffed Grampa, throwing a dose in the face of the surprised little flower girl, “but if anything should happen I’d never forgive myself.” Tatters came next and by this time the water was so hot that Grampa himself began to groan with discomfort. So he hastily swallowed his three spoonfuls, corked the bottle and prepared for the worst. But immediately everything grew better. The waves of heat from the island seemed only pleasant breezes now and the steaming water did not even feel hot. Before they had time to wonder at all this, they were washed up on the burning sands of Fire Island itself.
“Is it the fortune?” asked Bill, hopping out of Tatters’ arms. “You said land—or gold, and this is a golden land.”
Grampa was too dazed to answer. Finding himself completely fire proof was strange enough, but actually walking on an island of fire seemed unbelievable.
“Wonder what Pudge would say to this,” mused Grampa, as Tatters rushed over to his side. Urtha was already dancing about on the glowing sands as happily as she had danced in the wizard’s garden.
“Here come the firemen!” cried Prince Tatters, and rather anxiously the old soldier turned to meet the islanders. The people of Fire Island were as interesting and unusual as their island, being entirely of red and blue flames, and so light upon their feet they fairly flashed about over the glowing rocks.
“Shall I fall on their heads?” inquired Bill. “Is it a fight?”
“No,” answered Grampa, squinting a bit from the glare, “I believe they’re friendly.” And the old soldier was right, for as the Fire Islanders came nearer they waved their arms gaily and seemed delighted with the unusual appearance of their visitors. A little ahead of the others strode a tall man, who was made entirely of glowing, red hot iron. Except for this fact, he might have been any village blacksmith and his face was so round and jolly that Tatters immediately took heart.
“Prince Forge John the First!” called two small flame pages, as the Fire Monarch reached the party on the beach. Prince Forge John bowed, Grampa saluted, Bill crowed and Urtha—breaking off a flowery spray from her skirts—held it out prettily to the ruler of Fire Island.
“What a charming little fairy!” cried Prince Forge John in his hot crackling voice. “And you,” he turned pleased eyes upon Grampa and Tatters, “how brave you look, and it,” with a wave at the weather cock, “how beautiful it is—all of splendid iron!”
“Thanks,” crowed Bill. “I’m useful, too. If you will tell me where to find the head, the Princess and the fortune, I’ll tell you which way the wind blows. Head? Fortune? Princess?” finished Bill, as if he were repeating a lesson.