“What shall I do?” asked Urtha, running up to the old soldier.
“Just be your lovely little self,” smiled Grampa, “and stay where we can see you. Why, just to look at you makes me feel like a conquering army with banners flying.”
Urtha was so happy at Grampa’s neat little speech that she blew him a kiss and began dancing in circles over the shimmery snow and wherever Urtha’s foot rested the snow melted and flowers sprang up, until there were circles of posies pricked out against the snow. Grampa and Tatters were so interested that they almost forgot the icy wind that was blowing over this white, frozen land. But soon the Prince, who in spite of the skin of the thread bear was thinly clad, began to shiver and the old soldier to shake in good earnest. First he stood on one foot and then on the other—and longest on the other because that was his game leg and not subject to frost bites.
“A game leg’s a mighty fortunate thing,” wheezed Grampa huskily, “but I wish we were like Urtha—then we wouldn’t feel this pesky wind. Let’s march on, for if we stay here we’ll freeze stiff.” Marching on an empty stomach through a strange freezing land was not the pleasantest thing in the world but both Grampa and Tatters stepped out bravely, the young Prince smiling over his shoulder every few minutes at the little flower maiden. “It’s a lucky thing we’re not being followed,” whispered Grampa, and it certainly was—for after them, in a tell-tale row, pansies, tulips, daffodils and forget-me-nots marked out the steps of the light footed little flower fairy.
“I hope we track down this dragon soon,” groaned Tatters, pausing to stamp his foot and rub the end of his nose. Icicles were forming on Grampa’s whiskers and the sun, flashing on the snow, almost blinded the gallant old soldier. He was almost ready to quit.
“No wonder the king calls himself Chin Chilly,” chattered Grampa dismally. “My chin’s chilly too; I’m chilly all over. Urtha, my dear, do you see anything that looks like a dragon?”
“I see a bright light,” called Urtha, who was dancing ahead of the shivering adventurers.
“I feel a warm wind!” cried the Prince of Ragbad excitedly.
“The dragon! The dragon!” screamed the weathercock, appearing suddenly over the top of a bleak, icy hill. Before Bill’s warning had died away, the dragon itself hove into view and, with a great roar, came tobogganing down upon the frightened little company like a scenic railway train. Urtha jumped behind Tatters, Tatters drew his umbrella and Grampa looked down the sights of his gun into the flaming throat of Enorma herself. For a moment nothing happened, for the dragon, now that she was down the hill, seemed to wait for them to make the first move.
“Don’t shoot,” begged the Prince of Ragbad imploringly. “Don’t shoot yet Grampa, it’s the first time I’ve been warm to-day!”