"All you need fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall quickly part company—but you needn't look forward to it; we'll discover the fact ourselves, and notify you. But come! Let us resume our journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin Woodman."
So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the Pumpkinhead clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around the wooden form of Jack.
"Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit," said Tip to his steed.
"All right!" responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.
"Aren't you a little hoarse?" asked the Pumpkinhead politely.
The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward toward Tip.
"See here," he growled, "can't you protect me from insult?"
"To be sure!" answered Tip, soothingly. "I am sure Jack meant no harm. And it will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good friends."
"I'll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead," declared the Saw-Horse, viciously. "he loses his head too easily to suit me."
There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode along in silence.
After a while the Scarecrow remarked:
"This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I once saved Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the West."
"Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?" asked Jack, glancing around fearfully.
"They are all dead, so it doesn't matter," replied the Scarecrow. "And here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch's Grey Wolves."
"Who was Nick Chopper?" asked Tip.
"That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman, answered his Majesty. And here is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew away with little Dorothy," he continued, after they had traveled a little way farther.
"Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?" asked Jack, with a shiver of fear.
"I do not know; but you have little cause to, worry, for the Winged Monkeys are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap that commands their services," said the Scarecrow, reflectively.
Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought recalling the days of past adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the flower-strewn fields and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.
Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night. So Tip stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.
"I'm tired out," said the boy, yawning wearily; "and the grass is soft and cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning."
"I can't sleep," said Jack.
"I never do," said the Scarecrow.
"I do not even know what sleep is," said the Saw-Horse.
"Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of flesh and blood and bone, and gets tired," suggested the Scarecrow, in his usual thoughtful manner. "I remember it was the same way with little Dorothy. We always had to sit through the night while she slept."
"I'm sorry," said Tip, meekly, "but I can't help it. And I'm dreadfully hungry, too!"
"Here is a new danger!" remarked Jack, gloomily. "I hope you are not fond of eating pumpkins."
"Not unless they're stewed and made into pies," answered the boy, laughing. "So have no fears of me, friend Jack."
"What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!" said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.
"You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!" retorted Jack, angrily.
"There!—there!" interrupted the Scarecrow; "don't let us quarrel. We all have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be considerate of one another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has nothing whatever to eat, let us all remain quiet and allow him to sleep; for it is said that in sleep a mortal may forget even hunger."
"Thank you!" exclaimed Tip, gratefully. "Your Majesty is fully as good as you are wise—and that is saying a good deal!"
He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of the Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.
Chapter Twelve
A Nickel-Plated Emperor
Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and plucked, with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from some bushes near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample breakfast, and afterward the little party resumed its Journey.
After an hour's ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they espied the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the Emperor's palace rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.
The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:
"How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I hope that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled mine!"
"Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?" asked the horse.
"Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over them soon after the Wicked Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the world I am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor."
"I thought that 'Emperor' was the title of a person who rules an empire," said Tip, "and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom."
"Don't mention that to the Tin Woodman!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, earnestly. "You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as he has every reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor rather than King."
"I'm sure it makes no difference to me," replied the boy.
The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had hard work to stick upon its back; so there was little further conversation until they drew up beside the palace steps.
An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to assist them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to his personage:
"Show us at once to your master, the Emperor."
The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way, and finally answered:
"I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving this morning."
"How is that?" enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. "I hope nothing has happened to him."
"Oh, no; nothing serious," returned the man. "But this is his Majesty's day for being polished; and just now his august presence is thickly smeared with putz-pomade."
"Oh, I see!" cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. "My friend was ever
