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The Sawhorse was almost as curious as its rider.

It had been rudely made, in the beginning, to saw
logs upon, so that its body was a short length of

a log, and its legs were stout branches fitted
into four holes made in the body. The tail was

formed by a small branch that had been left on the
log, while the head was a gnarled bump on one end

of the body. Two knots of wood formed the eyes,
and the mouth was a gash chopped in the log. When

the Sawhorse first came to life it had no ears at
all, and so could not hear; but the boy who then

owned him had whittled two ears out of bark and
stuck them in the head, after which the Sawhorse

heard very distinctly.
This queer wooden horse was a great favorite

with Princess Ozma, who had caused the bottoms of
its legs to be shod with plates of gold, so the

wood would not wear away. Its saddle was made of
cloth-of-gold richly encrusted with precious gems.

It had never worn a bridle.
As the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of

travelers, he reined in his wooden steed and
dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling

nod. Then he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl
in wonder, while she in turn stared at him.

"Shags," he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man
aside, "pat me into shape, there's a good fellow!"

While his friend punched and patted the
Scarecrow's body, to smooth out the humps, Scraps

turned to Ojo and whispered: "Roll me out, please;
I've sagged down dreadfully from walking so much

and men like to see a stately figure."
She then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled

her back and forth like a rolling-pin, until the
cotton had filled all the spaces in her patchwork

covering and the body had lengthened to its
fullest extent. Scraps and the Scarecrow both

finished their hasty toilets at the same time, and
again they faced each other.

"Allow me, Miss Patchwork," said the Shaggy Man,
"to present my friend, the Right Royal Scarecrow

of Oz. Scarecrow, this is Miss Scraps Patches;
Scraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow--Scraps;

Scraps--Scarecrow."
They both bowed with much dignity.

"Forgive me for staring so rudely," said the
Scarecrow, "but you are the most beautiful sight

my eyes have ever beheld."
"That is a high compliment from one who is

himself so beautiful," murmured Scraps, casting
down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her

head. "But, tell me, good sir, are you not a
trifle lumpy?"

"Yes, of course; that's my straw, you know.
It bunches up, sometimes, in spite of all my

efforts to keep it even. Doesn't your straw ever
bunch?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed with cotton," said Scraps.
"It never bunches, but it's inclined to pack down

and make me sag."
"But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say

it is even more stylish, not to say aristocratic,
than straw," said the Scarecrow politely. "Still,

it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely
should have the best stuffing there is going. I--

er--I'm so glad I've met you, Miss Scraps!
Introduce us again, Shaggy."

"Once is enough," replied the Shaggy Man,
laughing at his friend's enthusiasm.

"Then tell me where you found her, and--Dear me,
what a queer cat! What are you made of--gelatine?"

"Pure glass," answered the cat, proud to have
attracted the Scarecrow's attention. "I am much

more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I'm
transparent, and Scraps isn't; I've pink brains--

you can see 'em work; and I've a ruby heart,
finely polished, while Scraps hasn't any heart at

all."
"No more have I," said the Scarecrow, shaking

hands with Scraps, as if to congratulate her on
the fact. "I've a friend, the Tin Woodman, who has

a heart, but I find I get along pretty well
without one. And so--Well, well! here's a little

Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my little man. How
are you?"

Ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove
that served the Scarecrow for a hand, and the

Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the straw
in his glove crackled.

Meantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse
and begun to sniff at it. The Sawhorse resented

this familiarity and with a sudden kick pounded
the Woozy squarely on its Lead with one gold-shod

foot.
"Take that, you monster!" it cried angrily.

The Woozy never even winked.
"To be sure," he said; "I'll take anything I

have to. But don't make me angry, you wooden
beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you

up."
The Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly

and kicked again, but the Woozy trotted away
and said to the Scarecrow:

"What a sweet disposition that creature has!
I advise you to chop it up for kindling-wood

and use me to ride upon. My back is flat and
you can't fall off."

"I think the trouble is that you haven't been
properly introduced," said the Scarecrow,

regarding the Woozy with much wonder, for he had
never seen such a queer animal before.

"The Sawhorse is the favorite steed of Princess
Ozma, the Ruler of the Land of Oz, and he lives in

a stable decorated with pearls and emeralds, at
the rear of the royal palace. He is swift as the

wind, untiring, and is kind to his friends. All
the people of Oz respect the Sawhorse highly, and

when I visit Ozma she sometimes allows me to ride
him--as I am doing to-day. Now you know what an

important personage the Sawhorse is, and if some
one--perhaps your-self--will tell me your name,

your rank and station, and your history, it will
give me pleasure to relate them to the Sawhorse.

This will lead to mutual respect and friendship."
The Woozy was somewhat abashed by this speech

and did not know how to reply. But Ojo said:
"This square beast is called the Woozy, and he

isn't of much importance except that he has three
hairs growing on the tip of his tail."

The Scarecrow looked and saw that this was true.
"But," said he, in a puzzled way, "what makes

those three hairs important? The Shaggy Man has
thousands of hairs, but no one has ever accused

him of being important."
So Ojo related the sad story of Unc Nunkie's

transformation into a marblestatue, and told how
he had set out to find the things the Crooked

Magician wanted, in order to make a charm that
would restore his uncle to life. One of the

requirements was three hairs from a Woozy's tail,
but not being able to pull out the hairs they had

been obliged to take the Woozy with them.
The Scarecrow looked grave as he listened and he

shook his head several times, as if in
disapproval.

"We must see Ozma about this matter," he
said. "That Crooked Magician is breaking the

Law by practicing magic without a license, and
I'm not sure Ozma will allow him to restore your

uncle to life."
"Already I have warned the boy of that,"

declared the Shaggy Man.
At this Ojo began to cry. "I want my Unc

Nunkie!" he exclaimed. "I know how he can be
restored to life, and I'm going to do it--Ozma or

no Ozma! What right has this girl Ruler to keep my
Unc Nunkie a statue forever?"

"Don't worry about that just now," advised
the Scarecrow. "Go on to the Emerald City,

and when you reach it have the Shaggy Man
take you to see Dorothy. Tell her your story and

I'm sure she will help you. Dorothy is Ozma's
best friend, and if you can win her to your side

your uncle is pretty safe to live again." Then he
turned to the Woozy and said: "I'm afraid you

are not important enough to be introduced to
the Sawhorse, after all."

"I'm a better beast than he is," retorted the
Woozy, indignantly. "My eyes can flash fire, and

his can't."
"Is this true?" inquired the Scarecrow, turning

to the Munchkin boy.
"Yes," said Ojo, and told how the Woozy had

set fire to the fence.
"Have you any other accomplishments?"

asked the Scarecrow.
"I have a most terrible growl--that is,

sometimes," said the Woozy, as Scraps laughed
merrily and the Shaggy Man smiled. But the Patch-

work Girl's laugh made the Scarecrow forget all
about the Woozy. He said to her:

"What an admirable young lady you are, and
what jolly good company! We must be better

acquainted, for never before have I met a girl
with such exquisite coloring or such natural,

artless manners."
"No wonder they call you the Wise Scarecrow,"

replied Scraps.
"When you arrive at the Emerald City I will see

you again," continued the Scarecrow. "Just now I
am going to call upon an old friend--an ordinary

young lady named Jinjur--who has Promised to
repaint my left ear for me. You may have noticed

that the paint on my left ear has peeled off and
faded, which affects my hearing on that side.

Jinjur always fixes me up when I get weather-
worn."

"When do you expect to return to the Emerald
City?" asked the Shaggy Man.

"I'll be there this evening, for I'm anxious
to have a long talk with Miss Scraps. How is it,



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