“That nickel-plate was, I confess, a happy thought,” said Nick; “and it was the more necessary because I had become somewhat scratched during my adventurous experiences. You will observe this engraved star upon my left breast. It not only indicates where my excellent heart lies, but covers very neatly the patch made by the Wonderful Wizard when he placed that valued organ in my breast with his own skillful hands.”

  “Is your heart, then, a hand-organ?” asked the Pumpkinhead, curiously.

  “By no means,” responded the emperor, with dignity. “It is, I am convinced, a strictly orthodox heart, although somewhat larger and warmer than most people possess.”

  Then he turned to the Scarecrow and asked:

  “Are your subjects happy and contented, my dear friend?”

  “I cannot, say” was the reply. “for the girls of Oz have risen in revolt and driven me out of the emerald City.”

  “Great Goodness!” cried the Tin Woodman, “What a calamity! They surely do not complain of your wise and gracious rule?”

  “No; but they say it is a poor rule that don’t work both ways,” answered the Scarecrow; “and these females are also of the opinion that men have ruled the land long enough. So they have captured my city, robbed the treasury of all its jewels, and are running things to suit themselves.”

  “Dear me! What an extraordinary idea!” cried the Emperor, who was both shocked and surprised.

  “And I heard some of them say,” said Tip, “that they intend to march here and capture the castle and city of the Tin Woodman.”

  “Ah! we must not give them time to do that,” said the Emperor, quickly; “we will go at once and recapture the Emerald City and place the Scarecrow again upon his throne.”

  “I was sure you would help me,” remarked the Scarecrow in a pleased voice. “How large an army can you assemble?”

  “We do not need an army,” replied the Woodman. “We four, with the aid of my gleaming axe, are enough to strike terror into the hearts of the rebels.”

  “We five,” corrected the Pumpkinhead.

  “Five?” repeated the Tin Woodman.

  “Yes; the Saw-Horse is brave and fearless,” answered Jack, forgetting his recent quarrel with the quadruped.

  The Tin Woodman looked around him in a puzzled way, for the Saw-Horse had until now remained quietly standing in a corner, where the Emperor had not noticed him. Tip immediately called the odd-looking creature to them, and it approached so awkwardly that it nearly upset the beautiful center-table and the engraved oil-can.

  “I begin to think,” remarked the Tin Woodman as he looked earnestly at the Saw-Horse, “that wonders will never cease! How came this creature alive?”

  “I did it with a magic powder,” modestly asserted the boy. “and the Saw-Horse has been very useful to us.”

  “He enabled us to escape the rebels,” added the Scarecrow.

  “Then we must surely accept him as a comrade,” declared the emperor. “A live Saw-Horse is a distinct novelty, and should prove an interesting study. Does he know anything?”

  “Well, I cannot claim any great experience in life,” the Saw-Horse answered for himself. “but I seem to learn very quickly, and often it occurs to me that I know more than any of those around me.”

  “Perhaps you do,” said the emperor; “for experience does not always mean wisdom. But time is precious just now, so let us quickly make preparations to start upon our Journey.”

  The emperor called his Lord High Chancellor and instructed him how to run the kingdom during his absence. Meanwhile the Scarecrow was taken apart and the painted sack that served him for a head was carefully laundered and restuffed with the brains originally given him by the great Wizard. His clothes were also cleaned and pressed by the Imperial tailors, and his crown polished and again sewed upon his head, for the Tin Woodman insisted he should not renounce this badge of royalty. The Scarecrow now presented a very respectable appearance, and although in no way addicted to vanity he was quite pleased with himself and strutted a trifle as he walked. While this was being done Tip mended the wooden limbs of Jack Pumpkinhead and made them stronger than before, and the Saw-Horse was also inspected to see if he was in good working order.

  Then bright and early the next morning they set out upon the return Journey to the emerald City, the Tin Woodman bearing upon his shoulder a gleaming axe and leading the way, while the Pumpkinhead rode upon the Saw-Horse and Tip and the Scarecrow walked upon either side to make sure that he didn’t fall off or become damaged.

  Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.

  Now, General Jinjur—who, you will remember, commanded the Army of Revolt—was rendered very uneasy by the escape of the Scarecrow from the Emerald City. She feared, and with good reason, that if his Majesty and the Tin Woodman Joined forces, it would mean danger to her and her entire army; for the people of Oz had not yet forgotten the deeds of these famous heroes, who had passed successfully through so many startling adventures.

  So Jinjur sent post-haste for old Mombi, the witch, and promised her large rewards if she would come to the assistance of the rebel army.

  Mombi was furious at the trick Tip had played upon her as well as at his escape and the theft of the precious Powder of Life; so she needed no urging to induce her to travel to the Emerald City to assist Jinjur in defeating the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who had made Tip one of their friends.

  Mombi had no sooner arrived at the royal palace than she discovered, by means of her secret magic, that the adventurers were starting upon their Journey to the Emerald City; so she retired to a small room high up in a tower and locked herself in while she practised such arts as she could command to prevent the return of the Scarecrow and his companions.

  That was why the Tin Woodman presently stopped and said:

  “Something very curious has happened. I ought to know by heart and every step of this Journey, yet I fear we have already lost our way.”

  “That is quite impossible!” protested the Scarecrow. “Why do you think, my dear friend, that we have gone astray?”

  “Why, here before us is a great field of sunflowers—and I never saw this field before in all my life.”

  At these words they all looked around, only to find that they were indeed surrounded by a field of tall stalks, every stalk bearing at its top a gigantic sunflower. And not only were these flowers almost blinding in their vivid hues of red and gold, but each one whirled around upon its stalk like a miniature wind-mill, completely dazzling the vision of the beholders and so mystifying them that they knew not which way to turn.

  “It’s witchcraft!” exclaimed Tip.

  While they paused, hesitating and wondering, the Tin Woodman uttered a cry of impatience and advanced with swinging axe to cut down the stalks before him. But now the sunflowers suddenly stopped their rapid whirling, and the travelers plainly saw a girl’s face appear in the center of each flower. These lovely faces looked upon the astonished band with mocking smiles, and then burst into a chorus of merry laughter at the dismay their appearance caused.

  “Stop! stop!” cried Tip, seizing the Woodman’s arm; “they’re alive! they’re girls!”

  At that moment the flowers began whirling again, and the faces faded away and were lost in the rapid revolutions.

  The Tin Woodman dropped his axe and sat down upon the ground.

  “It would be heartless to chop down those pretty creatures,” said he, despondently. “and yet I do not know how else we can proceed upon our way”

  “They looked to me strangely like the faces of the Army of Revolt,” mused the Scarecrow. “But I cannot conceive how the girls could have followed us here so quickly.”

  “I believe it’s magic,” said Tip, positively, “and that someone is playing a trick upon us. I’ve known old Mombi do things like that before. Probably it’s nothing more than an illusion, and there are no sunflowers here at all.”

  “Then let us shut our eyes and walk forward,” suggested the Woodman.

  “Excuse me,” replied the Scarecrow. “My eyes are not painted to shut. Because you happen to have tin eyelids, you must not imagine we are all built in the same way.”

  “And the eyes of the Saw-Horse are knot eyes,” said Jack, leaning forward to examine them.

  “Nevertheless, you must ride quickly forward,” commanded Tip, “and we will follow after you and so try to escape. My eyes are already so dazzled that I can scarcely see.”

  So the Pumpkinhead rode boldly forward, and Tip grasped the stub tail of the Saw-Horse and followed with closed eyes. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman brought up the rear, and before they had gone many yards a Joyful shout from Jack announced that the way was clear before them.

  Then all paused to look backward, but not a trace of the field of sunflowers remained.

  More cheerfully, now they proceeded upon their Journey; but old Mombi had so changed the appearance of the landscape that they would surely have been lost had not the Scarecrow wisely concluded to take their direction from the sun. For no witch-craft could change the course of the sun, and it was therefore a safe guide.

  However, other difficulties lay before them. The Saw-Horse stepped into a rabbit hole and fell to the ground. The Pumpkinhead was pitched high into the air, and his history would probably have ended at that exact moment had not the Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin as it descended and saved it from injury.

  Tip soon had it fitted to the neck again and replaced Jack upon his feet. But the Saw-Horse did not escape so easily. For when his leg was pulled from the rabbit hole it was found to be broken short off, and must be replaced or repaired before he could go a step farther.

  “This is quite serious,” said the Tin Woodman. “If there were trees near by I might soon manufacture another leg for this animal; but I cannot see even a shrub for miles around.”

  [Full page line-art drawing: THE TIN WOODMAN SKILLFULLY CAUGHT THE PUMPKIN]

  “And there are neither fences nor houses in this part of the land of Oz,” added the Scarecrow, disconsolately.

  “Then what shall we do?” enquired the boy.

  “I suppose I must start my brains working,” replied his Majesty the Scarecrow; “for experience has, taught me that I can do anything if I but take time to think it out.”

  “Let us all think,” said Tip; “and perhaps we shall find a way to repair the Saw-Horse.”

  So they sat in a row upon the grass and began to think, while the Saw-Horse occupied itself by gazing curiously upon its broken limb.

  “Does it hurt?” asked the Tin Woodman, in a soft, sympathetic voice.

  “Not in the least,” returned the Saw-Horse; “but my pride is injured to find that my anatomy is so brittle.”

  For a time the little group remained in silent thought. Presently the Tin Woodman raised his head and looked over the fields.

  “What sort of creature is that which approaches us?” he asked, wonderingly.

  The others followed his gaze, and discovered coming toward them the most extraordinary object they had ever beheld. It advanced quickly and noiselessly over the soft grass and in a few minutes stood before the adventurers and regarded them with an astonishment equal to their own.

  The Scarecrow was calm under all circumstances.

  “Good morning!” he said, politely.

  [Line-Art Drawing]

  The stranger removed his hat with a flourish, bowed very low, and then responded:

  “Good morning, one and all. I hope you are, as an aggregation, enjoying excellent health. Permit me to present my card.”

  With this courteous speech it extended a card toward the Scarecrow, who accepted it, turned it over and over, and handed it with a shake of his head to Tip.

  The boy read aloud:

  “MR. H. M. WOGGLE-BUG, T. E.”

  “Dear me!” ejaculated the Pumpkinhead, staring somewhat intently.

  “How very peculiar!” said the Tin Woodman.

  Tip’s eyes were round and wondering, and the Saw-Horse uttered a sigh and turned away its head.

  “Are you really a Woggle-Bug?” enquired the Scarecrow.

  “Most certainly, my dear sir!” answered the stranger, briskly. “Is not my name upon the card?”

  “It is,” said the Scarecrow. “But may I ask what ‘H. M.’ stands for?”

  “‘H. M.’ means Highly Magnified,” returned the Woggle-Bug, proudly.

  “Oh, I see.” The Scarecrow viewed the stranger critically. “And are you, in truth, highly magnified?”

  “Sir,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I take you for a gentleman of judgment and discernment. Does it not occur to you that I am several thousand times greater than any Woggle-Bug you ever saw before? Therefore it is plainly evident that I am Highly Magnified, and there is no good reason why you should doubt the fact.”

  “Pardon me,” returned the Scarecrow. “My brains are slightly mixed since I was last laundered. Would it be improper for me to ask, also, what the ‘T.E.’ at the end of your name stands for?”

  “Those letters express my degree,” answered the Woggle-Bug, with a condescending smile. “To be more explicit, the initials mean that I am Thoroughly Educated.”

  “Oh!” said the Scarecrow, much relieved.

  Tip had not yet taken his eyes off this wonderful personage. What he saw was a great, round, buglike body supported upon two slender legs which ended in delicate feet—the toes curling upward. The body of the Woggle-Bug was rather flat, and judging from what could be seen of it was of a glistening dark brown color upon the back, while the front was striped with alternate bands of light brown and white, blending together at the edges. Its arms were fully as slender as its legs, and upon a rather long neck was perched its head—not unlike the head of a man, except that its nose ended in a curling antenna, or “feeler,” and its ears from the upper points bore antennae that decorated the sides of its head like two miniature, curling pig tails. It must be admitted that the round, black eyes were rather bulging in appearance; but the expression upon the Woggle-Bug’s face was by no means unpleasant.

  For dress the insect wore a dark-blue swallowtail coat with a yellow silk lining and a flower in the button-hole; a vest of white duck that stretched tightly across the wide body; knickerbockers of fawn-colored plush, fastened at the knees with gilt buckles; and, perched upon its small head, was jauntily set a tall silk hat.

  Standing upright before our amazed friends the Woggle-Bug appeared to be fully as tall as the Tin Woodman; and surely no bug in all the Land of Oz had ever before attained so enormous a size.

  “I confess,” said the Scarecrow, “that your abrupt appearance has caused me surprise, and no doubt has startled my companions. I hope, however, that this circumstance will not distress you. We shall probably get used to you in time.”

  “Do not apologize, I beg of you!” returned the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. “It affords me great pleasure to surprise people; for surely I cannot be classed with ordinary insects and am entitled to both curiosity and admiration from those I meet.”

  “You are, indeed,” agreed his Majesty.

  “If you will permit me to seat myself in your august company,” continued the stranger, “I will gladly relate my history, so that you will be better able to comprehend my unusual—may I say remarkable?—appearance.”

  “You may say what you please,” answered the Tin Woodman, briefly.

  So the Woggle-Bug sat down upon the grass, facing the little group of wanderers, and told them the following story:

  A Highly Magnified History

  “It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my recital that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug,” began the creature, in a frank and friendly tone. “Knowing no better, I used my arms as well as my legs for walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid among the roots of grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects smaller than myself to feed upon.

  “The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no clothing, but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life and restored me to activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must remember it is the regular ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well as of many other tiny creatures that inhabit the earth.

  “But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander fate! One day I crawled near to a country school house, and my curiosity being excited by the monotonous hum of the students within, I made bold to enter and creep along a crack between two boards until I reached the far end, where, in front of a hearth of glowing embers, sat the master at his desk.

  “No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found that the hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine, I resolved to establish my future home beside it. So I found a charming nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many, many months.

  “Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land of Oz, and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and discourses he gave his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than the humble, unnoticed Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of knowledge that I will myself confess is simply marvelous. That is why I place ‘T.E.’ Thoroughly Educated upon my cards; for my greatest pride lies in the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with a tenth part of my own culture and erudition.”

  “I do not blame you,” said the Scarecrow. “Education is a thing to be proud of. I’m educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled.”

  “Nevertheless,” interrupted the Tin Woodman, “a good heart is, I believe, much more desirable than education or brains.”