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duke, “Dictionopolis is the place where all the words in the world come from. They’re grown right here in our orchards.”

      “I didn’t know that words grew on trees,” said Milo timidly.

      “Where did you think they grew?” shouted the earl irritably. A small crowd began to gather to see the little boy who didn’t know that letters grew on trees.

      “I didn’t know they grew at all,” admitted Milo even more timidly. Several people shook their heads sadly.

      “Well, money doesn’t grow on trees, does it?” demanded the count.

      “I’ve heard not,” said Milo.

      “Then something must. Why not words?” exclaimed the under-secretary triumphantly. The crowd cheered his display of logic and continued about its business.

      “To continue,” continued the minister impatiently. “Once a week by Royal Proclamation the word market is held here in the great square and people come from everywhere to buy the words they need or trade in the words they haven’t used.”

      “Our job,” said the count, “is to see that all the words sold are proper ones, for it wouldn’t do to sell someone a word that had no meaning or didn’t exist at all. For instance, if you bought a word like ghlbtsk, where would you use it?”

      “It would be difficult,” thought Milo – but there were so many words that were difficult, and he knew hardly any of them.

      “But we never choose which ones to use,” explained the earl as they walked towards the market stalls, “for as long as they mean what they mean to mean we don’t care if they make sense or nonsense.”

      “Innocence or magnificence,” added the count.

      “Reticence or common sense,” said the under-secretary.

      “That seems simple enough,” said Milo, trying to be polite.

      “Easy as falling off a log,” cried the earl, falling off a log with a loud thump.

      “Must you be so clumsy?” shouted the duke.

      “All I said was—” began the earl, rubbing his head.

      “We heard you,” said the minister angrily, “and you’ll have to find an expression that’s less dangerous.”

      The earl dusted himself, as the others snickered audibly.

      “You see,” cautioned the count, “you must pick your words very carefully and be sure to say just what you intend to say. And now, we must leave to make preparations for the Royal Banquet.”

      “You’ll be there, of course,” said the minister.

      But before Milo had a chance to say anything, they were rushing off across the square as fast as they had come.

      “Enjoy yourself in the market,” shouted back the under-secretary.

      “Market,” recited the duke: “an open space or covered building in which—”

      And that was the last Milo heard as they disappeared into the crowd.

      “I never knew words could be so confusing,” Milo said to Tock as he bent down to scratch the dog’s ear.

      “Only when you use a lot to say a little,” answered Tock.

      Milo thought this was quite the wisest thing he’d heard all day. “Come on,” he shouted, “let’s see the market. It looks very exciting.”

       Chapter Four CONFUSION IN THE MARKET PLACE

      INDEED IT WAS for, as they approached, Milo could see crowds of people pushing and shouting their way among the stalls, buying and selling, trading and bargaining. Huge wooden-wheeled carts streamed into the market square from the orchards, and long caravans bound for the four corners of the kingdom made ready to leave. Sacks and boxes were piled high waiting to be delivered to the ships that sailed the sea of Knowledge, and off to one side a group of minstrels sang songs to the delight of those either too young or too old to engage in trade. But above all the noise and tumult of the crowd could be heard the merchants’ voices loudly advertising their products.

      “Get your fresh-picked ifs, ands, and buts.”

      “Hey-yaa, hey-yaa, hey-yaa, nice ripe wheres and whens.”

      “Juicy, tempting words for sale.”

      So many words and so many people! They were from every place imaginable and some places even beyond that, and they were all busy sorting, choosing, and stuffing things into cases. As soon as one was filled, another was begun. There seemed to be no end to the bustle and activity.

      Milo and Tock wandered up and down between the stalls looking at the wonderful assortment of words for sale. There were short ones and easy ones for everyday use, and long and important ones for special occasions, and even some marvellously fancy ones packed in individual gift boxes for use in royal decrees and pronouncements.

      “Step right up, step right up – fancy, best-quality words right here,” announced one man in a booming voice. “Step right up – ah, what can I do for you, little boy? How about a nice bagful of pronouns – or maybe you’d like our special assortment of names?”

      Milo had never thought much about words before, but these looked so good that he longed to have some.

      “Look, Tock,” he cried, “aren’t they wonderful?”

      “They’re fine, if you have something to say,” replied Tock in a tired voice, for he was much more interested in finding a bone than in shopping for new words.

      “Maybe if I buy some I can learn how to use them,” said Milo eagerly as he began to pick through the words in the stall. Finally, he chose three which looked particularly good to him – “quagmire,” “flabbergast,” and “upholstery”. He had no idea what they meant, but they looked very grand and elegant.

      “How much are these?” he enquired, and when the man whispered the answer he quickly put them back on the shelf and started to walk on.

      “Why not take a few pounds of ‘happys’?” advised the salesman. “They’re much more practical – and very useful for Happy Birthday, Happy New Year, happy days, and happy-go-lucky.”

      “I’d like to very much,” began Milo, “but—”

      “Or perhaps you’d be interested in a package of ‘goods’ – always handy for good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and goodbye,” he suggested.

      Milo did want to buy something, but the only money he had was the coin he needed to get back through the tollbooth, and Tock, of course, had nothing but the time.

      “No, thank you,” replied Milo. “We’re just looking.” And they continued on through the market.

      As they turned down the last lane of stalls, Milo noticed a wagon that seemed different from the rest. On its side was a small neatly lettered sign that said DO IT YOURSELF, and inside were twenty-six bins filled with all the letters of the alphabet from A to Z.

      “These are for people who like to make their own words,” the man in charge informed him. “You can

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