“So they gave me a dough head! Well, won’t that do?” asked the King fretfully of the old soldier.
“Oh, father, please come back,” begged Tatters, falling on his knees before the King’s head.
“You must certainly resume your body,” declared the old soldier sternly. “How did you get up here in the first place?”
“It was the storm,” began Fumbo, rolling his eyes from one to the other. “My head never was on very tight, you know.”
Grampa nodded dryly. “So it blew off,” continued the King calmly, “and then I had on a wing collar,” Fumbo coughed apologetically, “and the thing flew right well, so I flew till I came to this cloud and here I’ve been ever since. I suppose I must go back if you say so, but it’s a poor business, old fellow. How are you going to get down from here? How did you get up? Who is this little Miss Rosy Posy and that iron billed bird you have with you?”
“This is Urtha,” explained Tatters proudly. “We found her in an enchanted garden. And that’s Bill. We found him in the blue forest and—oh, father, we’ve had such strange adventures.”
“Tell me all!” sighed Fumbo, closing his eyes and smacking his lips with anticipation.
“Not unless you come back with us,” said Grampa craftily.
“We were in an island of fire,” began Tatters, while Urtha, who was pressed close at his side, nodded excitedly.