No wonder Dorothy thought it was a cyclone! For what was on the top of the cave but the royal palace of Oz? The next instant it was impaled fast on the spikes of Ruggedo’s giant head and shooting up with him toward the clouds. And that wretched gnome never stopped growing till he was three-quarters of a mile high!

If the people in the palace were frightened, Ruggedo was more frightened still. Being a giant was a new experience for him and having a castle jammed on his head was worse still. The first thing he tried to do, when he stopped growing, was to lift the castle off, but his spikes were driven fast into the foundations and it fitted closer than his scalp.

In a panic Ruggedo began to run, and when a giant runs he gets somewhere. Each step carried him a half mile and shook the country below like an earthquake and rattled the people in the castle above like pennies in a Christmas bank. Shaking with terror and hardly knowing why, the gnome made for his old Kingdom, and in an hour had reached the little country of Oogaboo, which is in the very northwestern corner of Oz, opposite his old dominions.

The Deadly Desert is so narrow at this point that with one jump Ruggedo was across and, puffing like a volcano about to erupt, he sank down on the highest mountain in Ev. Fortunately he had not stepped on any cities in his flight, although he had crushed several forests and about a hundred fences.

“Oh, Oh, My head!” groaned Ruggedo, rocking to and fro. He seemed to have forgotten all about conquering Oz. He was full of twinges and growing pains. Ozma’s castle was giving him a thundering headache, and there he sat, a fearsome figure in the bright moonlight, moaning and groaning instead of conquering.

The Book of Records had been right indeed when it stated that Ruggedo had something on his mind. Ozma’s castle itself sat squarely upon that mischievous mind—and every moment it seemed to grow heavier.

No wonder there had been confusion in the castle! Every time Ruggedo shook his aching head Ozma and her guests were tossed about like leaves in a storm. Mixed magic had made mischief indeed.

Chapter 10
Peg and Wag To The Rescue

For a long time after the terrific bang following Ruggedo’s final expansion, Wag and Peg Amy had been too stunned to even move. Crowded together in the little rock room, they lay perfectly breathless.

“Umpthing sappened,” quavered the rabbit at last.

“That sounds rather queer, but I think I know what you mean,” said Peg, sitting up cautiously.

“Something has happened. Ruggedo’s been blown up, I guess.”

“Mixed Magic!” groaned Wag gloomily. “I knew it would explode. Say, Peg, what makes this room so small?”

“I don’t know,” sighed the doll in a puzzled voice, for neither Peg nor Wag realized how much they had grown. “But let’s go above ground and see what has become of Ruggedo.” One at a time and with great difficulty they got through the door.

“Why, there are the stars!” cried Peg Amy, clasping her wooden hands rapturously. “Real stars!” The top of the cave had gone off with the old gnome King and the two stood looking up at the lovely skies of Oz.

“It doesn’t seem so high as it used to,” said the rabbit, looking at the walls. “Why, I believe I could jump out if I took a good run and carry you, too. Come ashort, Peg!”

“Aren’t you mixed, Wag dear? Don’t you mean come along?” asked Peg, smoothing down her torn dress.

“Well, now that you mention it, my head does feel queer,” admitted the rabbit, twitching his nose, “bort of sackwards!”

“Sort of backwards,” corrected Peg gently. “Well, never mind. I know what you mean. But do let’s try to find that awful box of magic. You know Ruggedo brought me to life, Wag, with something in that box!”

“Only good thing he ever did,” said Wag, shaking his head. “But I think you were alive before,” he added solemnly. “You always seemed alive to me.”

“I think so, too,” whispered Peg excitedly. “I can’t remember just how, or where, but Oh! Wag! I know I’ve been alive before. I remember dancing.”

Peg took a few awkward steps and Wag looked on dubiously, too polite to criticize her efforts. He didn’t even laugh when Peg Amy fell down. Peg laughed herself, however, as merrily as possible. “It’s going to be such fun being alive,” she said, picking herself up gaily, “such fun, Wag dear. Why, there’s Glegg’s box!” She pounced upon the little shining gold casket. “Ruggedo didn’t take it after all!”

“Is it shut?” asked Wag, clapping both paws to his ears. “Look out for explosions, say I.”

“No, but I’ll soon close it,” said Peg and, shutting Glegg’s box, she slipped it into pocket of her dress. It was about half the size of this book you are reading and as Peg’s pockets were big and old fashioned, it fitted quite nicely.

“Come ashort,” said Wag again, looking around uneasily, for he was anxious to get out of the gnome’s cave. So Peg seated herself carefully on his back and clasped her wooden arms around his neck. Then Wag ran back a few steps, gave a great jump and sailed up, up and out of the cave.

“Ten penny tea cups!” shrieked the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, falling over backwards. “What next?” For Wag with Peg on his back had leaped straight over his head.

Picking himself up, and with every whisker in his beard prickling straight on end, the Grand Army of Oz backed toward the royal stable. When he had backed half the distance he turned and ran for his life. But he need not have been afraid.

“What a funny little man,” chuckled Wag. “Why, he’s no bigger than we are. He’s no—!” Then suddenly Wag clutched his ears. “Oh!” he screamed, beginning to hop up and down, “I forgot all my treasures—my olden goop soons. Oh! Oh! My urple sool wocks! I’ve forgotten my urple sool wocks!”

“Your what?” cried Peg Amy, clutching him by the fur. “Now Wag, dear, you’re all mixed up. Perhaps it’s ’cause your ears are crossed. There, now, do stop wiggling your whiskers and turn out your toes!”

But Wag continued to wiggle his whiskers and turn in his toes and roar for his urple sool wocks.

“Stop!” screamed Peg at last, with both hands over her wooden ears. “I know what you mean! Your purple wool socks!”

“Yes,” sobbed the rabbit, slumping down on a rock and holding his head in both paws.

“Well, don’t you think”—the Wooden Doll shook her head jerkily—“Don’t you think it’s just as well? Ruggedo stole all those things and you wouldn’t want stolen soup spoons, now would you?”

Wag took a long breath and regarded Peg uncertainly. Then something in her pleasant wooden face seemed to brace him up.

“No!” he sighed solemnly—“I s’pose not. I ought to have left Rug long ago.”

“But then you couldn’t have helped me,” said Peg brightly. “Let’s don’t think about it any more. You’ve been awfully good to me, Wag.”

“Have I?” said Wag more cheerfully. “Well, you’re a good sort, Peg—a regular Princess!” he finished, puffing out his chest, “and anything you say goes.”

“Princess?” laughed the Wooden Doll, pleased nevertheless. “I’m a funny Princess, in this old dress. Did you ever hear of a wooden Princess, Wag?”

“You look like a Princess to me,” said the rabbit stoutly. “Dresses don’t matter.”

This speech so tickled the Wooden Doll that she gave Wag a good hug and began dancing again. “Being alive is such fun!” she called gaily over her shoulder, “and you are so wonderful!”

Wag’s chest expanded at least three inches and his whiskers trembled with emotion. “Hop on my back Peg and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he puffed magnificently.

But the Wooden Doll had suddenly grown sober. “Wherever is the castle?” she cried anxiously. She remembered exactly where it had stood when she was an unalive doll and now not a tower or turret of the castle was to be seen. “Oh!” groaned Peg Amy, “Ruggedo has done something dreadful with his Mixed Magic!”

Wag rubbed his eyes and looked all around. “Why, it’s gone!” he cried, waving his paws. “What shall we do? If only we weren’t so small!”

“We’ve got the magic box,” said Peg hopefully, “and somehow I don’t feel as small as I used to feel; do you?”

“Well, I feel pretty queer, myself,” said the rabbit, twitching his nose. “Maybe it’s because I’m hungry. There’s a kitchen garden over there near the royal stables and I think if I had some carrots I’d feel better.”

“Of course you would!” cried Peg, jumping up. “I forgot you had to eat.” So, very cautiously they stole into the royal cook’s garden. Wag had often helped himself to carrots from this garden before, but now sitting on his haunches he stared around in dazed surprise.

“Everything’s different!” wailed the rabbit dismally. “You’re the same and I’m the same but everything else is all mixed up. Look at this carrot. Why, it’s no bigger than a blade of grass.” Wag held up a carrot in disgust. “Why, it will take fifty of these to give me even a taste and the lettuce—look at it! Everything’s shrunk, even the houses!” cried the big funny bunny, looking around. “My wocks and hoop soons, sheverything’s hunk!”

Peg Amy had followed Wag’s gaze and now she jumped up in great excitement. “I see it now!” cried Peg. “It’s us, Wag. Everything’s the same but we are different. Some of that Mixed Magic has made us grow. We’re bigger and everything else is the same. I am as tall as the little girl who used to play with me and you are even bigger and I’m glad, because now we can help find the castle and Ruggedo and try to make everything right again.”

Peg clasped her wooden hands. “Aren’t you glad too, Wag?”

The rabbit shook his head. “It’s going to take an awful lot to fill me up,” he said doubtfully. “I’ll have to eat about six times as much as I used to.”

“Well, you’re six times as large; isn’t that any comfort?”

“My head doesn’t feel right,” insisted Wag. “As soon as I talk fast the words all come wrong.”

“Maybe it didn’t grow as fast as the rest of you,” laughed the Wooden Doll. “But don’t you care, Wag. I know what you mean and I think you’re just splendid! Now hurry and finish your carrots so we can decide what to do.

“If Mixed Magic caused all this trouble,” added Peg half to herself, “Mixed Magic’s got to fix it. I’m going to look at that box.” Wag, nibbling industriously, had not heard Peg’s last speech or he would doubtless have taken to his heels.

Sitting unconcernedly in a cabbage bed, the Wooden Doll took the gold box from her pocket. Fortunately she had not snapped the magic snap and it opened quite easily. Her fingers were stiff and clumsy and the moon was the only light she had to see by, but it did not take Peg Amy long to realize the importance of Glegg’s magic.

“I wonder if he rubbed this on the castle,” she murmured, holding up the bottle of Vanishing Cream. “And how would one bring it back? Let me see, now.” One after the other, she took out the bottles and boxes and the tiny tea set. The Re-animating Rays she passed over, without realizing they were responsible for bringing her to life, but the Question Box, Peg pounced upon with eager curiosity.

“Oh, if it only would answer questions!” fluttered Peg. Then, holding the box close to her mouth, she whispered, “Where is Ruggedo?”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Wag, looking up in alarm. “Now don’t you get mixed up, Peg!”

“It’s a Question Box,” said the Wooden Doll, “but it’s not working very well.” She shook it vigorously and held it up so that the light streaming down from the stable window fell directly on it. In silver letters on the lid of the box was one word—Ev!

“Ev—Ruggedo’s in Ev!” cried Peg Amy, rushing over to the rabbit. “Can you take me to Ev, Wag dear?”

“Of course,” said Wag, nibbling faster and faster at his carrots. “I’ll take you anywhere, Peg.”

“Then it’s going to be all right; I know it,” chuckled the Wooden Doll, and putting all the magic appliances back into the box she closed the lid with a snap. And this time the magic catch caught.

“Is it far to Ev?” asked Peg Amy, looking thoughtfully at the place where the castle had once been.

“Quite a long journey,” said Wag, “but we’ll go a hopping. Ev is near Ruggedo’s old home and it’s across the Deadly Desert, but we’ll get there somehow. Trust me. And when I do!” spluttered Wag, thumping his hind feet determinedly, “I’ll pound his curly toes off—the wicked little monster!”

“Did you ask the Question Box where the castle was?” he inquired hastily, for he saw Peg was going to tell him he must not pound Ruggedo.

“Why, no! How silly of me!” Peg felt in her pocket and brought out the gold box. She tried to open it as she had done before but it was no use. She pulled and tugged and shook it. Then Wag tried.

“There’s a secret to it,” puffed the rabbit at last. “Took Rug a whole night and day to discover it. Can’t you remember how you opened it before, Peg?”

The Wooden Doll shook her head sadly.

“Well, never mind,” said Wag comfortingly. “Once we find Ruggedo we can make him tell. We’d better start right off, because if any of the people around here saw us they might try to capture us and put us in a circus. We are rather unusual, you know.” The rabbit regarded Peg Amy complacently. “One doesn’t see six-foot rabbits and live dolls every day, even in Oz!”

“No,” agreed Peg Amy slowly, “I s’pose not!”

The moon, looking down on the strange pair, ducked behind a cloud to hide her smile, for the giant funny bunny, strutting about pompously, and old-fashioned wooden Peg, in her torn frock, were enough to make anyone smile.

“You think of everything,” sighed Peg, looking affectionately at Wag.

“Who wouldn’t for a girl like you? You’re a Princess, Peg—a regular Princess.” The rabbit said it with conviction and again Peg happily smoothed her dress.

“Hop on,” chuckled Wag, “and then I’ll hop off.”

Seating herself on his back and holding tight to one of his long ears, Peg announced herself ready. Then away through the night shot the giant bunny—away toward the western country of the Winkies—and each hop carried him twelve feet forward and sent up great spurts of dust behind.

Chapter 11
The King of The Illumi Nation

While Ruggedo was working all this mischief in the Emerald City, Pompadore and the Elegant Elephant had fallen into strange company. After the Prince’s disappearance, Kabumpo stared long and anxiously at the white marble stone with its mysterious inscription, “Knock before you fall in.”

What would happen if he knocked, as the sign directed? Something upsetting, the Elegant Elephant was sure, else why had Pompa called for help?

Kabumpo groaned, for he was a luxurious beast and hated discomfort of any sort. As for falling in—the very thought of it made him shudder in every pound. But selfish and luxurious though he was, the Elegant Elephant loved Pompa with all his heart. After all, he had run off with the Prince and was responsible for his safety. If Pompa had fallen in he must fall in too. With a resigned sigh, Kabumpo felt in his pocket to see that his treasures were safe, straightened his robe and, taking one last long breath, rapped sharply on the marble stone with his trunk. Without a sound, the stone swung inward, and as Kabumpo was standing on it he shot headlong into a great black opening. There was a terrific rush of air and the slab swung back, catching as it did so the fluttering edge of the Elegant Elephant’s robe of state. This halted his fall for about a second and then with a spluttering tear the silk fringe ripped loose and down plunged the Elegant Elephant, trunk over heels.

After the third somersault, Kabumpo, right side up, fortunately, struck a soft inclined slide, down which he shot like a scenic railway train.

“Great Grump!” coughed Kabumpo, holding his jeweled headpiece with his trunk. “Great—” Before he reached the second grump, his head struck the top of the passage with terrific force, and that was the last he remembered about his fall. How long he lay in an unconscious state the Elegant Elephant never knew. After what seemed several ages he became aware of a confused murmur. Footsteps seemed to be pattering all around him, but he was still too stunned to be curious.

“Nothing will make me get up,” thought Kabumpo dully. “I’m going to lie here forever and—ever—and ever—and—” Just as he reached this drowsy conclusion, something red hot fell down his neck and a voice louder than all the rest shouted in his ear. “What are you?”

“Ouch!” screamed Kabumpo, now thoroughly aroused. He opened one eye and rolled over on his side. A tall, curious creature was bending over him. Its head was on fire and as Kabumpo blinked angrily another red hot shower spattered into his ear. With a trumpet of rage Kabumpo lunged to his feet. The hot-headed person fell over backwards and a crowd of similar creatures pattered off into the corner and regarded Kabumpo uneasily. They were as tall as Pompa but very thin and tube-like in shape and their heads appeared to be a mass of flickering flames.

“Like giant candles,” reflected the Elegant Elephant, his curiosity getting the better of his anger. He glanced about hurriedly. He was in a huge white tiled chamber and the only lights came from the heads of its singular occupants. A little distance away Prince Pompadore sat rubbing first his knees and then his head.

“It’s another faller,” said one of the giant Candlemen to the other. “Two fallers in one day! This is exciting—an ‘Ouch’ it calls itself!”

“I don’t care what it calls itself,” answered the second Candleman crossly. “I call it mighty rude. How dare you blow out our king?” shouted the hot-headed fellow, shaking his fist at the Elegant Elephant. “Here, some of you, light him up!”

“Blow out your King?” gasped Kabumpo in amazement. Sure enough, he had. There at his feet lay the King of the Candles, stiff and lifeless and with never a head to bless himself with. While the Elegant Elephant stared at the long candlestick figure a fat little Candleman rushed forward and lit with his own head the small black wick sticking out of the King’s collar.

Instantly the ruddy flame face of the King appeared, his eyes snapping dangerously. Jumping to his feet he advanced toward Pompadore. “Is this your Ouch?” spluttered the King, jerking his thumb at Kabumpo. “You must take him away at once. I never was so put out in my life. Me, the hand-dipped King of the whole Illumi Nation, to be blown out by a bumpy creature without any headlight. Where’s your headlight?” he demanded fiercely, leaning over the Prince and dropping hot tallow down his neck.

Pompa jumped up in a hurry and backed toward Kabumpo. “Be careful how you talk to him,” roared the Elegant Elephant, swaying backwards and forward like a big ship. “He’s a Prince—the Prince of Pumperdink!” Kabumpo tossed his trunk threateningly.

“A Prince?” spluttered the King, changing his tone instantly. “Well, that’s different. A Prince can fall in on us any time and welcome but an Ouch! Why bring this great clumsy Ouch along?” He rolled his eyes mournfully at Kabumpo.

“He’s not an Ouch,” explained Pompa, who was gradually recovering from the shock of his fall. “He is Kabumpo, an Elegant Elephant, and he blew you out by mistake. Didn’t you, Kabumpo?”

“Purely an accident—nothing intentional, I assure you,” chuckled Kabumpo. He was beginning to enjoy himself. “If there’s any more trouble I’ll blow ’em all out,” he reflected comfortably, “for they’re nothing but great big candles.”

Seeing their King in friendly conversation with the strangers, the other Candlemen came closer—too close for comfort, in fact. They were always leaning over and dropping hot tallow on a body and the heat from their flaming heads was simply suffocating.

“Sing the National Air for them,” said the Candle King carelessly and the Candlemen, in their queer crackling voices, sang the following song, swaying rhythmically to the tune:

“Thank you,” said Pompa, mopping his head with his silk handkerchief.

“Thank you very much,” Kabumpo groaned plaintively, for the great elephant was nearly stifled.

“How is it you are so tall and thin?” asked Pompa after an awkward pause.

“How is it you are so short and lumpy and unevenly dipped?” responded King Cheer promptly. “If I were in your place,” he gave Kabumpo a contemptuous glance, “I’d have myself redipped. Where are your wicks? And how can you walk about without being lighted?”

“We’re not fireworks,” puffed Kabumpo indignantly and then he gave a shrill scream. Ten Candlemen tottered and went out, falling to the ground with a great clatter. Then Pompa leaped several feet in the air and his scream put out five more.

“Stop!” cried King Cheer angrily. “Stand where you are!” But Kabumpo and Pompa neither stopped nor stood where they were. The Elegant Elephant rushed over to the Prince and threw his heavy robe over his head. And just in time, for Pompa’s golden locks were a mass of flames. Then the Prince tore off his velvet jacket and clapped it to Kabumpo’s tail, which also was blazing merrily.

“Great Grump!” rumbled the Elegant Elephant furiously, when he had extinguished Pompa and Pompa had extinguished him. “I’ll put you all out for this!” He raised his trunk and pointed it straight at the Candlemen, who cowered in the far corner.

“I was only trying to light you up,” wailed a little fellow, holding out his hands pleadingly. “I thought that was your wick.” He pointed a trembling finger at Kabumpo’s tail and another at Pompa’s head.

“Wick!” snorted Kabumpo in a rage—while the Prince ran his hand sorrowfully through his one luxuriant pompadour, of which nothing but a short stubble remained—“Wick! What would we be doing with wicks?”

“I don’t think he meant any harm,” put in Pompadore, whose kind heart was touched by the little Candleman’s terror. “And it wouldn’t help us any.”

“Thought it was my Wick,” shrilled Kabumpo, glaring over his shoulder at his poor scorched tail. “He’s a wick-ed little wretch. He’s ruined your looks.”

“I know!” Pompa sighed dismally. “No one will want to marry me now. It’s all coming true, Kabumpo, just as Count It Up said. Remember? ‘If a thin Prince sets out on a fat elephant to find a Proper Princess, how many yards of fringe will the elephant lose from his robe and how bald will the Prince be at the end of the journey?’ And we’ve scarcely begun!”

“Great hay stacks!” whistled Kabumpo, his little eyes twinkling. “So I have lost every bit of fringe from my robe and my tail and half the back of my robe besides. This is nice, I must say.”

“We only tried to give you a warm welcome,” said the King timidly.

“Warm welcome! Well I should think you did,” sniffed Kabumpo. “How do we get out of here?”

“Oh, that’s very simple,” said the King, cheering up. “Tommy, go for the Snuffer.”

Before Kabumpo or Pompa realized what this would mean a little Candleman named Tommy Tallow had returned with a tall black candle person. He stepped to the side wall, quickly jerked a rope and down over Kabumpo dropped a great brass snuffer and over the Prince another.

“That ought to put the cross old things out,” Pompa heard the King say just before his snuffer reached the floor.

“This is terrible,” fumed the poor Prince, thumping on the sides of the huge brass dome. “I might as well have stayed at home and disappeared comfortably. My poor old father and my mother! I wonder where they are now?”

Sunk in gloomy reflection, Pompadore leaned against the side of the snuffer. And one cannot blame him for feeling dismal. The fall down the deep passage, the shock of losing his hair and now imprisonment under a stifling brass dome were enough to extinguish the hopes of the stoutest hearted adventurer.

“I shall never find a Proper Princess!” wailed Pompa, tying and untying his handkerchief. But just then there was a creak from without and the great dome lifted as suddenly as it had fallen—so suddenly in fact that Pompa fell flat on his back. There stood Kabumpo winding up the long rope with his trunk and grumbling furiously all the while.

“Takes more than a snuffer to keep me down,” wheezed the Elegant Elephant, hurrying over and jerking the Prince to his feet. “Three humps of my shoulders and off she goes! What makes it so dark?”

“The Candlemen have all gone,” sighed Pompa, brushing his hand wearily across his forehead. “All except that one.”

In a distant corner sat Tommy Tallow and the light from his head was the only light in the great chamber. He was reading a book with tin leaves and looked up in surprise when he saw the Elegant Elephant and Pompadore approaching. Then he started to sputter and ran toward a bell rope at the side of the chamber.

“Stop!” shouted Kabumpo, “or I’ll blow off your head!” At that the little Candleman trembled so violently that his flame head almost went out.

“Now suppose you show us the way out,” snapped the Elegant Elephant, stamping one big foot until the floor trembled.

“You could burn out!” gasped Tommy faintly. “That’s what we do!”

“Don’t say out,” whispered Pompa anxiously. “We want to go away from here,” he explained earnestly. “Back on the top of the ground, you know.”

“Oh!” whistled Tommy Tallow, his face lighting up. “That’s easy—this way, please!” He almost ran to a big door at one side of the room and tugging it open, waved them through.

“Good-bye!” he called, slamming the door quickly behind them.

Kabumpo and the Prince found themselves in a wide dim hallway. It slanted up gradually and there were tall candle guards stationed about a hundred yards apart all of the way.

“Are you going to a birthday party or a wedding?” asked the first guard, as they passed him.

“Wedding,” sniffed Kabumpo. “Why?”

“Well, hardly any of the candles go out of here unless they’re needed for a birthday or a wedding,” explained the guard, shifting his big feet. “You’re mighty poorly made though. What kind of candles do you call yourselves?”

“Roman,” chuckled Kabumpo with a wink. “We roam around,” he added ponderously.

“Do all the candles used above ground come from here?” asked Pompa curiously.

“Certainly,” replied the guard. “All candles come from Illumi—and they don’t like to leave either because as soon as they strike the upper air they shrink down to ordinary cake and candlestick size. Distressing, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it must be,” smiled Pompadore. “Good-bye!” The guard touched his flame hat and Kabumpo quickened his pace.

“I want air,” rumbled the great elephant, panting along as fast as he could go. “I’ve seen and felt about all I care to see and feel of the Illumi Nation.”

“So have I!” The Prince of Pumperdink touched his scorched locks and sighed deeply. “I’m afraid Ozma will never marry me now, and Pumperdink will disappear forever!”

“Don’t be a Gooch!” snapped the Elegant Elephant shortly. “Our adventures have only begun.”

They passed the rest of the guards without further conversation, and after about two hours came to the end of the long tiled passageway and stepped upon firm ground again.

Kabumpo was terribly out of breath, for the whole way had been up hill. For a full minute he stood sniffing the fresh night air. Then, turning around, he looked for the opening through which they had come. Not a sign of the passage anywhere!

“That’s curious,” puffed the Elegant Elephant. “But never mind. We don’t want to go back anyway.”

“I should say not,” gasped the Prince wearily. “Where are we now, Kabumpo?”

“Still in the Gilliken country, I think, but headed in the right direction. All we have to do is to keep going South,” said the Elegant Elephant cheerfully.

“But we’ve had nothing to eat since morning,” objected Pompadore.

“That’s so,” agreed Kabumpo, scratching his head thoughtfully, “and not a house in sight!”

“But I smell something cooking,” insisted the Prince, sniffing hungrily.

“So do I,” said the Elegant Elephant, lifting his trunk, “and it smells like soup. Let’s follow our noses, Pompa, my boy.”

“Yours is the longest,” laughed the Prince, as Kabumpo swung him upon the elephant’s back. So, guided by the fragrant whiffs that came floating toward them, Kabumpo set out through the trees.

Chapter 12
The Delicious Sea of Soup

“Strange that we don’t see any houses,” puffed Kabumpo, swinging along rapidly.

“I hear water,” answered Pompa, peering out over Kabumpo’s head, “and there it is!”

Rippling silver under the rays of the moon, which shone brightly, lay a great inland sea. The trees had thinned out, and a smooth, sandy beach stretched down to the shore. A slight mist hung in the air and all around was the delicious fragrance of vegetable soup.

“Somebody’s making soup,” sighed the Prince, “but who, and where?”

“Never mind, Pompa,” wheezed the Elegant Elephant, walking down to the water’s edge, “perhaps you can catch some fish, and while you cook them I’ll go back and eat some leaves.”

With a jerk of his trunk, Kabumpo pulled a length of the heavy silver thread from his torn robe and handed it up to Pompa. Fastening a jeweled pin to one end, the Prince cast his line far out into the waves. At the first tug he drew it in.

“What is it?” asked the Elegant Elephant, as Pompa pulled the dripping line over his trunk.

“Oh, how delicious! How wonderful!” exclaimed the once fastidious Prince of Pumperdink.

Kabumpo could hear him munching away with relish.

“What is it?” he asked again.

“A carrot! A lovely, red, delightful, tender carrot!”

“Carrot! Who ever heard of a sea carrot?” grunted Kabumpo. “I’m afraid you’re not yourself, my boy. Let me see it.”

Snaps and crunches, as Pompa consumed his strange catch, were the only answer, and in real alarm the Elegant Elephant moved away from the shore, and in doing so bumped against a white sign, stuck in the sand.

“Please Don’t Fall In,” directed the sign politely, “It Spoils The Soup.”

“Soup!” sputtered Kabumpo. Then another sign caught his eye: “Soup Sea—Salted To Taste—Help Yourself.”

“Come down—come down here directly!” cried the Elegant Elephant, snatching the Prince from his back. “Here’s the soup—a whole sea full. Now all you need is a bowl.”

Swallowing convulsively the last bit of carrot, Pompa stood staring out over the tossing, smoking soup sea. Every now and then a bone or a vegetable would bob out of the waves, and the poor hungry Prince of Pumperdink thought he had never seen a more lovely sight in his life.

“We’ll probably be awarded a china medal for this,” chuckled the Elegant Elephant. “Won’t old Pumper’s eyes stick out when we tell him about it? But now for a bowl!”

Swinging his trunk gently, Kabumpo walked up the white beach, and had not gone more than a dozen steps before he came to a cluster of huge shells. He turned one over curiously. “Why, it’s a soup bowl,” whistled the Elegant Elephant. He rushed back with it to Pompadore, who still stood dreamily surveying the soup.

“I never thought I’d be so thrilled by a common soup bowl,” thought Kabumpo, staring at the Prince in amusement. He stepped out on a rock and dipped up a bowl of the hot liquid.

“Here! Drink!” commanded the Elegant Elephant, handing the bowl to the Prince. “Drink to the Proper Princess and the future Queen of Pumperdink.”

“Don’t go,” begged the Prince between gulps, “I shall want two—three—several!”

Kabumpo laughed good naturedly. “This is the pleasantest thing that has happened to us. Here! Have another!”

Then both Pompa and the Elegant Elephant gasped, for out of the bubbling waves arose the most curious figure that they had ever seen—the most curious and the jolliest. He was made entirely of soup bones, and his head was a monster cabbage, with a soup bowl set jauntily on the side for a cap. For a cabbage head he sang very well and this was the song to which he kept time by waving a silver ladle:

When he came to “dined,” the Soup King gave a playful leap and disappeared backward into the waves.

Pompa rubbed his eyes and looked at Kabumpo to see whether he had been dreaming.

“Oh!” cried Kabumpo, his eyes as round as little saucers. Floating gently toward them were two large, crisp, buttered rolls.

“The most charming King I’ve ever met,” chuckled Kabumpo, scooping up the rolls and handing them to Pompa.

Pompa, staring dreamily ahead, first took a drink of soup, then a nibble of roll, too happy for speech. Four times the Elegant Elephant refilled the bowl. Then, his stomach full for the first time since they had left Pumperdink, the Prince stretched himself out on the sands.

“Now,” puffed the Elegant Elephant ceremoniously, “if you think you’ve had quite enough, I’ll snatch a few bites myself.” Chuckling softly he made his way back to some young trees, and dined luxuriously off their tops.

When he returned to the beach, Pompa was fast asleep, and for a few moments Kabumpo was inclined to sleep himself. “But then,” he reflected, “Ozma may require a lot of coaxing before she consents to marry Pompa, and two of our precious seven days are gone. It is plainly my duty to save Pumperdink. Besides, when Pompa is married he will be King of Oz! Then I, the Elegant Elephant, will be the biggest figure at Court.”

Kabumpo threw up his trunk and trumpeted softly to the stars. Then, giving himself a big shake and a little stretch, he lifted the sleeping Prince to his back and started on again. In about two hours he had circled the Soup Sea and, guiding himself by a particularly bright and twinkling star, ran swiftly and steadily toward the South.

As the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, Kabumpo passed through a quaint little Gilliken village. He snatched a bag of rolls from a doorstep and stuck them into his pocket, but he did not stop, and so fast asleep was the little village that except for a few wideawake roosters, no one knew how important a person had passed through.

The sky grew pinker and pinker. You have no idea how pink the morning skies in Oz can be. Just as the sun got out of bed, the Elegant Elephant came to the wonderful Emerald City itself, shining and fairylike as a dream under the lovely colors of sunrise. Kabumpo paused and took a deep breath. Even he was impressed, and it took a good bit to impress him. He reached back and touched Pompa with his trunk.

“Wake up, my boy,” whispered Kabumpo in a trembling voice. “Wake up and put on your crown, for we have come to the city of your Proper Princess.”

Pompa sat up and rubbed his eyes in amazement. Without a word, he took the crown Kabumpo handed up to him, and set it on his scorched, golden head. Accustomed as Pompa was to grandeur, for Pumperdink is very magnificent in its funny old-fashioned way, he could not help but gasp at Ozma’s fair city. The lovely green parks, the houses studded with countless emeralds, the shining marble streets, filled the Prince with wonder.

“I don’t believe she’ll ever marry me,” he stuttered, beginning to feel quite frightened at his boldness.

“Nonsense,” wheezed Kabumpo faintly. He was beginning to have misgivings himself. “Sit up now! Look your best, and I’ll carry you straight into the palace gardens.”

No one was awake. Even the Soldier with the Green Whiskers lay snoring against a tree, so that Kabumpo stole unobserved into the Royal Gardens.

“I don’t see the palace,” whispered Pompa anxiously. “Wouldn’t it show above the trees?”

“It ought to,” said Kabumpo, wrinkling up his forehead. “But look! Who is that?”

Pompa’s heart almost stopped, and even Kabumpo’s gave a queer jump. On a golden bench, just ahead, sat the loveliest person either had seen in all of their eighteenth birthdays.

“Ozma,” gasped the Elegant Elephant, as soon as he had breath enough to whisper. “What luck! You must ask her at once.”