“Where is the golden ship?” demanded an indignant voice. “Where are the diamonds? What have you done with the Princess?”
Dropping with a thud that sent a shower of ice splinters into the air, the weather cock planted himself before Grampa. He had been looking all over Isa Poso for Chin Chilly and had arrived just in time to see his friends sailing off on the iceberg.
“Oh, Bill!” cried Urtha, giving the iron bird an impulsive hug, “I thought you were lost!”
“Where is the golden ship? Where are the diamonds?” insisted the weather cock, slipping out of Urtha’s embrace.
“Oh, go crack yourself some icicles,” muttered the old soldier crossly. He did not like to be reminded of his cheerful prophecy. “Go crack yourself some icicles, Bill, that’s all the diamonds you’ll get.”
“There isn’t any ship—nor any diamonds—nor anything!” said Tatters, wrapping the skin of the old thread bear more tightly about him and staring drearily over the tossing waters of the Nonestic Ocean.
“But you don’t have to marry the Princess,” Urtha reminded him softly, “and even if this isn’t a golden ship couldn’t we dance and be happy?”
“Well, if we don’t dance, we’ll freeze,” fumed Grampa, beginning to stamp up and down. “We’ll freeze anyway,” he predicted gloomily. “Look pleasant, my boy. We might as well freeze as attractively as possible. They’ll carve us a monument on a block of ice, no doubt: ‘Frozen in the line of duty!’”
Tatters coughed plaintively and began to tramp sadly up and down after Grampa.