well knew the courage and loyalty of her old comrades, and also believed that any others who came from their marvelous country would prove to be pleasant and reliable acquaintances.
As soon as the last bit of desert was passed and all the procession, from the beautiful and dainty Ozma to the last soldier, had reached the grassy meadows of the Land of Ev, the magic carpet rolled itself together and entirely disappeared.
Then the chariot driver turned her Lion and Tiger into a broad roadway leading up to the palace, and the others followed, while Dorothy still gazed from her tower window in eager excitement.
They came quite close to the front door of the palace and then halted, the Scarecrow dismounting from his Saw-Horse to approach the sign fastened to the door, that he might read what it said.
Dorothy, just above him, could keep silent no longer.
“Here I am!” she shouted, as loudly as she could. “Here’s Dorothy!”
“Dorothy who?” asked the Scarecrow, tipping his head to look upward until he nearly lost his balance and tumbled over backward.
“Dorothy Gale, of course. Your friend from Kansas,” she answered.
“Why, hello, Dorothy!” said the Scarecrow. “What in the world are you doing up there?”
“Nothing,” she called down, “because there’s nothing to do. Save me, my friend — save me!”
“You seem to be quite safe now,” replied the Scarecrow.
“But I’m a prisoner. I’m locked in, so that I can’t get out,” she pleaded.
“That’s all right,” said the Scarecrow. “You might be worse off, little Dorothy. Just consider the matter. You can’t get drowned, or be run over by a Wheeler, or fall out of an apple-tree. Some folks would think they were lucky to be up there.”
“Well, I don’t,” declared the girl, “and I want to get down immed’i’tly and see you and the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion.”
“Very well,” said the Scarecrow, nodding. “It shall be just as you say, little friend. Who locked you up?”
“The princess Langwidere, who is a horrid creature,” she answered.
At this Ozma, who had been listening carefully to the conversation, called to Dorothy from her chariot, asking:
“Why did the Princess lock you up, my dear?”
“Because,” exclaimed Dorothy, “I wouldn’t let her have my head for her collection, and take an old, cast-off head in exchange for it.”
“I do not blame you,” exclaimed Ozma, promptly. “I will see the Princess at once, and oblige her to liberate you.”
“Oh, thank you very, very much!” cried Dorothy, who as soon as she heard the sweet voice of the girlish Ruler of Oz knew that she would soon learn to love her dearly.
Ozma now drove her chariot around to the third door of the wing, upon which the Tin Woodman boldly proceeded to knock.
As soon as the maid opened the door Ozma, bearing in her hand her ivory wand, stepped into the hall and made her way at once to the drawing-room, followed by all her company, except the Lion and the Tiger. And the twenty-seven soldiers made such a noise and a clatter that the little maid Nanda ran away screaming to her mistress, whereupon the Princess Langwidere, roused to great anger by this rude invasion of her palace, came running into the drawing-room without any assistance whatever.
There she stood before the slight and delicate form of the little girl from Oz and cried out; —
“How dare you enter my palace unbidden? Leave this room at once, or I will bind you and all your people in chains, and throw you into my darkest dungeons!”
“What a dangerous lady!” murmured the Scarecrow, in a soft voice.
“She seems a little nervous,” replied the Tin Woodman.
But Ozma only smiled at the angry Princess.
“Sit down, please,” she said, quietly. “I have traveled a long way to see you, and you must listen to what I have to say.”
“Must!” screamed the Princess, her black eyes flashing with fury — for she still wore her No. 17 head. “Must, to ME!”
“To be sure,” said Ozma. “I am Ruler of the Land of Oz, and I am powerful enough to destroy all your kingdom, if I so wish. Yet I did not come here to do harm, but rather to free the royal family of Ev from the thrall of the Nome King, the news having reached me that he is holding the Queen and her children prisoners.”
Hearing these words, Langwidere suddenly became quiet.
“I wish you could, indeed, free my aunt and her ten royal children,” said she, eagerly. “For if they were restored to their proper forms and station they could rule the Kingdom of Ev themselves, and that would save me a lot of worry and trouble. At present there are at least ten minutes every day that I must devote to affairs of state, and I would like to be able to spend my whole time in admiring my beautiful heads.”
“Then we will presently discuss this matter,” said Ozma, “and try to find a way to liberate your aunt and cousins. But first you must liberate another prisoner — the little girl you have locked up in your tower.”
“Of course,” said Langwidere, readily. “I had forgotten all about her. That was yesterday, you know, and a Princess cannot be expected to remember today what she did yesterday. Come with me, and I will release the prisoner at once.”
So Ozma followed her, and they passed up the stairs that led to the room in the tower.
While they were gone Ozma’s followers remained in the drawing-room, and the Scarecrow was leaning against a form that he had mistaken for a copper statue when a harsh, metallic voice said suddenly in his ear:
“Get off my foot, please. You are scratch-ing my pol-ish.”
“Oh, excuse me!” he replied, hastily drawing back. “Are you alive?”
“No,” said Tiktok, “I am on-ly a ma-chine. But I can think and speak and act, when I am pro-per-ly wound up. Just now my ac-tion is run down, and Dor-o-thy has the key to it.”
“That’s all right,” replied the Scarecrow. “Dorothy will soon be free, and then she’ll attend to your works. But it must be a great misfortune not to be alive. I’m sorry for you.”
“Why?” asked Tiktok.
“Because you have no brains, as I have,” said the Scarecrow.
“Oh, yes, I have,” returned Tiktok. “I am fit-ted with Smith & Tin-ker’s Im-proved Com-bi-na-tion Steel Brains. They are what make me think. What sort of brains are you fit-ted with?”
“I don’t know,” admitted the Scarecrow. “They were given to me by the great Wizard of Oz, and I didn’t get a chance to examine them before he put them in. But they work splendidly and my conscience is very active. Have you a conscience?”
“No,” said Tiktok.
“And no heart, I suppose?” added the Tin Woodman, who had been listening with interest to this conversation.
“No,” said Tiktok.
“Then,” continued the Tin Woodman, “I regret to say that you are greatly inferior to my friend the Scarecrow, and to myself. For we are both alive, and he has brains which do not need to be wound up, while I have an excellent heart that is continually beating in my bosom.”
“I con-grat-u-late you,” replied Tiktok. “I can-not help be-ing your in-fer-i-or for I am a mere ma-chine. When I am wound up I do my du-ty by go-ing just as my ma-chin-er-y is made to go. You have no i-de-a how full of ma-chin-er-y I am.”
“I can guess,” said the Scarecrow, looking at the machine man curiously. “Some day I’d like to take you apart and see just how you are made.”
“Do not do that, I beg of you,” said Tiktok; “for you could not put me to-geth-er a-gain, and my use-ful-ness would be de-stroyed.”
“Oh! are you useful?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised.
“Ve-ry,” said Tiktok.
“In that case,” the Scarecrow kindly promised, “I won’t fool with your interior at all. For I am a poor mechanic, and might mix you up.”
