y know what the Tin Woodman is,
because the Nome King said he had been transformed into something
funny."

Ozma eagerly assisted the hen in her quest, and soon the Scarecrow and
the machine man, being ornaments of shining gold, were discovered and
restored to their accustomed forms. But, search as they might, in no
place could they find a funny ornament that might be the transformation
of the Tin Woodman.

"Only one thing can be done," said Ozma, at last, "and that is to
return to the Nome King and oblige him to tell us what has become of
our friend."

"Perhaps he won't," suggested Billina.

"He must," returned Ozma, firmly. "The King has not treated us
honestly, for under the mask of fairness and good nature he entrapped
us all, and we would have been forever enchanted had not our wise and
clever friend, the yellow hen, found a way to save us."

"The King is a villain," declared the Scarecrow.

"His laugh is worse than another man's frown," said the private, with a
shudder.

"I thought he was hon-est, but I was mis-tak-en," remarked Tiktok. "My
thoughts are us-u-al-ly cor-rect, but it is Smith & Tin-ker's fault if
they some-times go wrong or do not work prop-er-ly."

"Smith & Tinker made a very good job of you," said Ozma, kindly. "I do
not think they should be blamed if you are not quite perfect."

"Thank you," replied Tiktok.

"Then," said Billina, in her brisk little voice, "let us all go back to
the Nome King, and see what he has to say for himself."

So they started for the entrance, Ozma going first, with the Queen and
her train of little Princes and Princesses following. Then came
Tiktok, and the Scarecrow with Billina perched upon his straw-stuffed
shoulder. The twenty-seven officers and the private brought up the
rear.

As they reached the hall the doors flew open before them; but then they
all stopped and stared into the domed cavern with faces of astonishment
and dismay. For the room was filled with the mail-clad warriors of the
Nome King, rank after rank standing in orderly array. The electric
lights upon their brows gleamed brightly, their battle-axes were poised
as if to strike down their foes; yet they remained motionless as
statues, awaiting the word of command.

And in the center of this terrible army sat the little King upon his
throne of rock. But he neither smiled nor laughed. Instead, his face
was distorted with rage, and most dreadful to behold.

17. The Scarecr