LITMIR.BIZ

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me dizzy to be up so far.”

      “All right,” answered the Gump, briefly.

      It flopped its four huge wings and rose slowly into the air; and then, while our little band of adventurers clung to the backs and sides of the sofas for support, the Gump turned toward the South and soared swiftly and majestically away.

      “The scenic effect, from this altitude, is marvelous,” commented the educated WoggleBug, as they rode along.

      “Never mind the scenery,” said the Scarecrow. “Hold on tight, or you may get a tumble. The Thing seems to rock badly.”

      “It will be dark soon,” said Tip, observing that the sun was low on the horizon. “Perhaps we should have waited until morning. I wonder if the Gump can fly in the night.”

      “I’ve been wondering that myself,” returned the Gump quietly. “You see, this is a new experience to me. I used to have legs that carried me swiftly over the ground. But now my legs feel as if they were asleep.”

      “They are,” said Tip. “We didn’t bring ‘em to life.”

      “You’re expected to fly,” explained the Scarecrow. “not to walk.”

      “We can walk ourselves,” said the WoggleBug.

      “I begin to understand what is required of me,” remarked the Gump; “so I will do my best to please you,” and he flew on for a time in silence.

      Presently Jack Pumpkinhead became uneasy.

      “I wonder if riding through the air is liable to spoil pumpkins,” he said.

      “Not unless you carelessly drop your head over the side,” answered the WoggleBug. “In that event your head would no longer be a pumpkin, for it would become a squash.”

      “Have I not asked you to restrain these unfeeling jokes?” demanded Tip, looking at the WoggleBug with a severe expression.

      “You have; and I’ve restrained a good many of them,” replied the insect. “But there are opportunities for so many excellent puns in our language that, to an educated person like myself, the temptation to express them is almost irresistible.”

      “People with more or less education discovered those puns centuries ago,” said Tip.

      “Are you sure?” asked the WoggleBug, with a startled look.

      “Of course I am,” answered the boy. “An educated WoggleBug may be a new thing; but a WoggleBug education is as old as the hills, judging from the display you make of it.”

      The insect seemed much impressed by this remark, and for a time maintained a meek silence.

      The Scarecrow, in shifting his seat, saw upon the cushions the pepperbox which Tip had cast aside, and began to examine it.

      “Throw it overboard,” said the boy; “it’s quite empty now, and there’s no use keeping it.”

      “Is it really empty?” asked the Scarecrow, looking curiously into the box.

      “Of course it is,” answered Tip. “I shook out every grain of the powder.”

      “Then the box has two bottoms,” announced the Scarecrow, “for the bottom on the inside is fully an inch away from the bottom on the outside.”

      “Let me see,” said the Tin Woodman, taking the box from his friend. “Yes,” he declared, after looking it over, “the thing certainly has a false bottom. Now, I wonder what that is for?”

      “Can’t you get it apart, and find out?” enquired Tip, now quite interested in the mystery.

      “Why, yes; the lower bottom unscrews,” said the Tin Woodman. “My fingers are rather stiff; please see if you can open it.”

      He handed the pepperbox to Tip, who had no difficulty in unscrewing the bottom. And in the cavity below were three silver pills, with a carefully folded paper lying underneath them.

      This paper the boy proceeded to unfold, taking care not to spill the pills, and found several lines clearly written in red ink.

      “Read it aloud,” said the Scarecrow. so Tip read, as follows:

      “DR. NIKIDIK’S CELEBRATED WISHING PILLS.

      “Directions for Use: Swallow one pill; count seventeen by twos; then make a Wish. The Wish will immediately be granted.

      CAUTION: Keep in a Dry and Dark Place.”

      “Why, this is a very valuable discovery!” cried the Scarecrow.

      “It is, indeed,” replied Tip, gravely. “These pills may be of great use to us. I wonder if old Mombi knew they were in the bottom of the pepperbox. I remember hearing her say that she got the Powder of Life from this same Nikidik.”

      “He must be a powerful Sorcerer!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “and since the powder proved a success we ought to have confidence in the pills.”

      “But how,” asked the Scarecrow, “can anyone count seventeen by twos? Seventeen is an odd number.”

      “That is true,” replied Tip, greatly disappointed. “No one can possibly count seventeen by twos.”

      “Then the pills are of no use to us,” wailed the Pumpkinhead; “and this fact overwhelms me with grief. For I had intended wishing that my head would never spoil.”

      “Nonsense!” said the Scarecrow, sharply. “If we could use the pills at all we would make far better wishes than that.”

      “I do not see how anything could be better,” protested poor Jack. “If you were liable to spoil at any time you could understand my anxiety.”

      “For my part,” said the Tin Woodman, “I sympathize with you in every respect. But since we cannot count seventeen by twos, sympathy is all you are liable to get.”

      By this time it had become quite dark, and the voyagers found above them a cloudy sky, through which the rays of the moon could not penetrate.

      The Gump flew steadily on, and for some reason the huge sofa-body rocked more and more dizzily every hour.

      The WoggleBug declared he was seasick; and Tip was also pale and somewhat distressed. But the others clung to the backs of the sofas and did not seem to mind the motion as long as they were not tipped out.

      Darker and darker grew the night, and on and on sped the Gump through the black heavens. The travelers could not even see one another, and an oppressive silence settled down upon them.

      After a long time Tip, who had been thinking deeply, spoke.

      “How are we to know when we come to the pallace of Glinda the Good?” he asked.

      “It’s a long way to Glinda’s palace,” answered the Woodman; “I’ve traveled it.”

      “But how are we to know how fast the Gump is flying?” persisted the boy. “We cannot see a single thing down on the earth, and before morning we may be far beyond the place we want to reach.”

      “That is all true enough,” the Scarecrow replied, a little uneasily. “But I do not see how we can stop just now; for we might alight in a river, or on, the top of a steeple; and that would be a great disaster.”

      So they permitted the Gump to fly on, with regular flops of its great wings, and waited patiently for morning.

      Then Tip’s fears were proven to be well founded; for with the first streaks of gray dawn they looked over the sides of the sofas and discovered rolling plains dotted with queer villages, where the houses, instead of being domeshaped—as they all are in the Land of Oz—had slanting roofs that rose to a peak in the center. Odd looking animals were also moving about upon the open plains, and the country was unfamiliar to both the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, who had formerly visited Glinda the Good’s domain and knew it well.

      “We

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