am the on-ly au-to-mat-ic me-chan-i-cal man they ev-er
com-plet-ed," he replied. "They were ver-y won-der-ful in-ven-tors,
were my mak-ers, and quite ar-tis-tic in all they did."

"I am sure of that," said Dorothy. "Do they live in the town of Evna
now?"

"They are both gone," replied the machine. "Mr. Smith was an art-ist,
as well as an in-vent-or, and he paint-ed a pic-ture of a riv-er which
was so nat-ur-al that, as he was reach-ing a-cross it to paint some
flow-ers on the op-po-site bank, he fell in-to the wa-ter and was
drowned."

"Oh, I'm sorry for that!" exclaimed the little girl.

"Mis-ter Tin-ker," continued Tiktok, "made a lad-der so tall that he
could rest the end of it a-gainst the moon, while he stood on the
high-est rung and picked the lit-tle stars to set in the points of the
king's crown. But when he got to the moon Mis-ter Tin-ker found it
such a love-ly place that he de-cid-ed to live there, so he pulled up
the lad-der af-ter him and we have nev-er seen him since."

"He must have been a great loss to this country," said Dorothy, who was
by this time eating her custard pie.

"He was," acknowledged Tiktok. "Also he is a great loss to me. For if
I should get out of or-der I do not know of an-y one a-ble to re-pair
me, be-cause I am so com-pli-cat-ed. You have no i-de-a how full of
ma-chin-er-y I am."

"I can imagine it," said Dorothy, readily.

"And now," continued the machine, "I must stop talk-ing and be-gin
think-ing a-gain of a way to es-cape from this rock." So he turned
half way around, in order to think without being disturbed.

"The best thinker I ever knew," said Dorothy to the yellow hen, "was a
scarecrow."

"Nonsense!" snapped Billina.

"It is true," declared Dorothy. "I met him in the Land of Oz, and he
traveled with me to the city of the great Wizard of Oz, so as to get
some brains, for his head was only stuffed with straw. But it seemed
to me that he thought just as well before he got his brains as he did
afterward."

"Do you expect me to believe all that rubbish about the Land of Oz?"
enquired Billina, who seemed a little cross--perhaps because bugs were
scarce.

"What rubbish?" asked the child, who was now finishing her nuts and
raisins.

"Why, your impossible stories about animals that can talk, and a tin
woodman who is alive, and a scarecrow who can think."

"They are all there," said Dorothy, "for I have seen them."

"I don't believe it!" cried the hen, w