"My brains are the Carefully-
Assorted, Double-Distilled, High-Efficiency sort that the
Wizard of Oz makes. He admits, himself, that my brains
are the best he ever manufactured."
"I think I've heard of you," said Trot slowly, as she
looked the Scarecrow over with much interest; "but you
used to live in the Land of Oz."
"Oh, I do now," he replied cheerfully. "I've just come
over the mountains from the Quadling Country to see if I
can be of any help to you."
"Who, me?" asked Pon.
"No, the strangers from the big world. It seems they
need looking after."
"I'm doing that myself," said Pon, a little
ungraciously. "If you will pardon me for saying so, I
don't see how a Scarecrow with painted eyes can look
after anyone."
"If you don't see that, you are more blind than the
Scarecrow," asserted Trot. "He's a fairy man, Pon, and
comes from the fairyland of Oz, so he can do 'most
anything. I hope," she added, turning to the Scarecrow,
"you can find Cap'n Bill for me."
"I will try, anyhow," he promised. "But who is that old
woman who is running toward us and shaking her stick at
us?"
Trot and Pon turned around and both uttered an
exclamation of fear.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172