the centers of their bodies.
As the visitors entered the enclosure the Wizard let the door swing back into place, and at once the line of soldiers tumbled over, fell flat upon their backs, and lay fluttering upon the ground.
“Hi there!” called one of them; “what do you mean by slamming the door and blowing us over?”
“I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” said the Wizard, regretfully. “I didn’t know you were so delicate.”
“We’re not delicate!” retorted another soldier, raising his head from the ground. “We are strong and healthy; but we can’t stand draughts.”
“May I help you up?” asked Dorothy.
“If you please,” replied the end soldier. “But do it gently, little girl.”
Dorothy carefully stood up the line of soldiers, who first dusted their painted clothes and then saluted the visitors with their paper muskets. From the end it was easy to see that the entire line had been cut out of paper, although from the front the soldiers looked rather solid and imposing.
“I’ve a letter of introduction from Princess Ozma to Miss Cuttenclip,” announced Dorothy.
“Very well,” said the end soldier, and blew upon a paper whistle that hung around his neck. At once a paper soldier in a Captain’s uniform came out of a paper house near by and approached the group at the entrance. He was not very big, and he walked rather stiffly and uncertainly on his paper legs; but he had a pleasant face, with very red cheeks and very blue eyes, and he bowed so low to the strangers that Dorothy laughed, and the breeze from her mouth nearly blew the Captain over. He wavered and struggled and finally managed to remain upon his feet.
“Take care, Miss!” he said, warningly. “You’re breaking the rules, you know, by laughing.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” she replied.
“To laugh in this place is nearly as dangerous as to cough,” said the Captain. “You’ll have to breathe very quietly, I assure you.”
“We’ll try to,” promised the girl. “May we see Miss Cuttenclip, please?”
“You may,” promptly returned the Captain. “This is one of her reception days. Be good enough to follow me.”
He turned and led the way up a path, and as they followed slowly, because the paper Captain did not move very swiftly, they took the opportunity to gaze around them at this strange paper country.
Beside the path were paper trees, all cut out very neatly and painted a brilliant green color. And back of the trees were rows of cardboard houses, painted in various colors but most of them having green blinds. Some were large and some small, and in the front yards were beds of paper flowers quite natural in appearance. Over some of the porches paper vines were twined, giving them a cozy and shady look.
As the visitors passed along the street a good many paper dolls came to the doors and windows of their houses to look at them curiously. These dolls were nearly all the same height, but were cut into various shapes, some being fat and some lean. The girl dolls wore many beautiful costumes of tissue paper, making them quite fluffy; but their heads and hands were no thicker than the paper of which they were made.
Some of the paper people were on the street, walking along or congregated in groups and talking together; but as soon as they saw the strangers they all fluttered into the houses as fast as they could go, so as to be out of danger.
“Excuse me if I go edgewise,” remarked the Captain as they came to a slight hill. “I can get along faster that way and not flutter so much.”
“That’s all right,” said Dorothy. “We don’t mind how you go, I’m sure.”
At one side of the street was a paper pump, and a paper boy was pumping paper water into a paper pail. The Yellow Hen happened to brush against this boy with her wing, and he flew into the air and fell into a paper tree, where he stuck until the Wizard gently pulled him out. At the same time, the pail went into the air, spilling the paper water, while the paper pump bent nearly double.
“Goodness me!” said the Hen. “If I should flop my wings I believe I’d knock over the whole village!”
“Then don’t flop them—please don’t!” entreated the Captain. “Miss Cuttenclip would be very much distressed if her village was spoiled.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful,” promised Billina.
“Are not all these paper girls and women named Miss Cuttenclips?” inquired Omby Amby.
“No indeed,” answered the Captain, who was walking better since he began to move edgewise. “There is but one Miss Cuttenclip, who is our Queen, because she made us all. These girls are Cuttenclips, to be sure, but their names are Emily and Polly and Sue and Betty and such things. Only the Queen is called Miss Cuttenclip.”
“I must say that this place beats anything I ever heard of,” observed Aunt Em. “I used to play with paper dolls myself, an’ cut ‘em out; but I never thought I’d ever see such things alive.”
“I don’t see as it’s any more curious than hearing hens talk,” returned Uncle Henry.
“You’re likely to see many queer things in the Land of Oz, sir,” said the Wizard. “But a fairy country is extremely interesting when you get used to being surprised.”
“Here we are!” called the Captain, stopping before a cottage.
This house was made of wood, and was remarkably pretty in design. In the Emerald City it would have been considered a tiny dwelling, indeed; but in the midst of this paper village it seemed immense. Real flowers were in the garden and real trees grew beside it. Upon the front door was a sign reading:
MISS CUTTENCLIP
Just as they reached the porch the front door opened and a little girl stood before them. She appeared to be about the same age as Dorothy, and smiling upon her visitors she said, sweetly:
“You are welcome.”
All the party seemed relieved to find that here was a real girl, of flesh and blood. She was very dainty and pretty as she stood there welcoming them. Her hair was a golden blonde and her eyes turquoise blue. She had rosy cheeks and lovely white teeth. Over her simple white lawn dress she wore an apron with pink and white checks, and in one hand she held a pair of scissors.
“May we see Miss Cuttenclip, please?” asked Dorothy.
“I am Miss Cuttenclip,” was the reply. “Won’t you come in?”
She held the door open while they all entered a pretty sitting-room that was littered with all sorts of paper—some stiff, some thin, and some tissue. The sheets and scraps were of all colors. Upon a table were paints and brushes, while several pair of scissors, of different sizes, were lying about.
“Sit down, please,” said Miss Cuttenclip, clearing the paper scraps off some of the chairs. “It is so long since I have had any visitors that I am not properly prepared to receive them. But I’m sure you will pardon my untidy room, for this is my workshop.”
“Do
