Ozma of Oz. Baum Lyman Frank

used to car-ry a whip with him, when he walked out, to keep the crea-tures in or-der. When I was first made the Wheel-ers tried to run o-ver me, and butt me with their heads; but they soon found I was built of too sol-id a ma-ter-i-al for them to in-jure."

      "You seem very durable," said Dorothy. "Who made you?"

      "The firm of Smith & Tin-ker, in the town of Ev-na, where the roy-al pal-ace stands," answered Tiktok.

      "Did they make many of you?" asked the child.

      "No; I am the on-ly au-to-mat-ic me-chan-i-cal man they ev-er com-plet-ed," he replied. "They were ver-y won-der-ful in-ven-tors, were my mak-ers, and quite ar-tis-tic in all they did."

      "I am sure of that," said Dorothy. "Do they live in the town of Evna now?"

      "They are both gone," replied the machine. "Mr. Smith was an art-ist, as well as an in-vent-or, and he paint-ed a pic-ture of a riv-er which was so nat-ur-al that, as he was reach-ing a-cross it to paint some flow-ers on the op-po-site bank, he fell in-to the wa-ter and was drowned."

      "Oh, I'm sorry for that!" exclaimed the little girl.

      "Mis-ter Tin-ker," continued Tiktok, "made a lad-der so tall that he could rest the end of it a-gainst the moon, while he stood on the high-est rung and picked the lit-tle stars to set in the points of the king's crown. But when he got to the moon Mis-ter Tin-ker found it such a love-ly place that he de-cid-ed to live there, so he pulled up the lad-der af-ter him and we have nev-er seen him since."

      "He must have been a great loss to this country," said Dorothy, who was by this time eating her custard pie.

      "He was," acknowledged Tiktok. "Also he is a great loss to me. For if I should get out of or-der I do not know of an-y one a-ble to re-pair me, be-cause I am so com-pli-cat-ed. You have no i-de-a how full of ma-chin-er-y I am."

      "I can imagine it," said Dorothy, readily.

      "And now," continued the machine, "I must stop talk-ing and be-gin think-ing a-gain of a way to es-cape from this rock." So he turned halfway around, in order to think without being disturbed.

      "The best thinker I ever knew," said Dorothy to the yellow hen, "was a scarecrow."

      "Nonsense!" snapped Billina.

      "It is true," declared Dorothy. "I met him in the Land of Oz, and he travelled with me to the city of the great Wizard of Oz, so as to get some brains, for his head was only stuffed with straw. But it seemed to me that he thought just as well before he got his brains as he did afterward."

      "Do you expect me to believe all that rubbish about the Land of Oz?" enquired Billina, who seemed a little cross – perhaps because bugs were scarce.

      "What rubbish?" asked the child, who was now finishing her nuts and raisins.

      "Why, your impossible stories about animals that can talk, and a tin woodman who is alive, and a scarecrow who can think."

      "They are all there," said Dorothy, "for I have seen them."

      "I don't believe it!" cried the hen, with a toss of her head.

      "That's 'cause you're so ign'rant," replied the girl, who was a little offended at her friend Billina's speech.