“Yes, you tell us,” commanded Fumbo. He had not yet heard the story of their journey from Ragbad himself, and was even more curious about it than Dorothy. So Grampa took the center of the circle. Now, next to fighting, the old soldier loved to talk and, next to fighting, talking was the best thing he did. His recital of the experiences of his little army during the past three days was so thrilling that Dorothy and Percy simply held their breath and Toto’s ears waved with excitement. Dorothy was particularly interested in Bill and the strange manner in which he had been shocked to life. Being from the United States herself, it seemed real homelike to meet a fellow countryman, even if he was only a weather cock. As for Percy Vere—who had lived all his life on Maybe Mountain—nothing could exceed his astonishment as Grampa proceeded from one adventure to the next.
“Do you mind if I close my eyes,” Percy muttered weakly, as Grampa reached the point in his story where they had discovered Urtha growing in the wizard’s garden. “Do you mind if I close my eyes? I can believe anything with my eyes shut.”
“Not if you close your mouth also,” snapped Grampa and went right on with his story, never even stopping for breath until he had reached their last tumble from the rainbow.
“Professor Wogglebug will have to write a whole new history,” breathed Dorothy, as Grampa settled back in his place, “and Ozma will never allow the bandit to stay in the blue forest nor Gorba to practice magic in his hidden garden. Oh, my! I do believe you can help us find the Princess after all. You are so brave and interesting.” Dorothy smiled at Grampa and Tatters and the Forgetful Poet, opening his eyes, stared dreamily at the little flower fairy.
“If I had my arms, I’d embrace you all,” exclaimed Fumbo feelingly, “and you shall have hugs all around as soon as I get back to my body. You’re a credit to the country, and Bill here shall have a perch on the highest tower in Ragbad and little Miss Posies—”
“But the Princess!” exclaimed Bill anxiously, “and the fortune! We can’t go back without them!”
“Too late to hunt for them to-day,” chuckled Grampa and indeed, while they had been talking, the sun had dropped down behind the daisy splashed hill, leaving the world bathed in a pleasant dusk.
“We’re all tired, so we’ll have supper and make camp here,” decided Grampa sensibly. “Then to-morrow we’ll start after that prophet with gun, musket, sword and bootleather!”
“That’s the talk!” cried Percy Vere, jumping up to help Tatters gather wood for a fire. With such good company, the last of the bear steaks from Isa Poso and the berries gathered by little Urtha tasted better than a feast, and nothing could have exceeded the jollity of that evening ’round Grampa’s camp fire.