e forgetting your manners."

"Excuse me," returned the Magician. "This is Unc Nunkie, the descendant
of the former kings of the Munchkins, before this country became a part
of the Land of Oz."

"He needs a hair-cut," observed the cat, washing its face.

"True," replied Unc, with a low chuckle of amusement.

"But he has lived alone in the heart of the forest for many years," the
Magician explained; "and, although that is a barbarous country, there
are no barbers there."

"Who is the dwarf?" asked the cat.

"That is not a dwarf, but a boy," answered the Magician. "You have never
seen a boy before. He is now small because he is young. With more years
he will grow big and become as tall as Unc Nunkie."

"Oh. Is that magic?" the glass animal inquired.

"Yes; but it is Nature's magic, which is more wonderful than any art
known to man. For instance, my magic made you, and made you live; and it
was a poor job because you are useless and a bother to me; but I can't
make you grow. You will always be the same size--and the same saucy,
inconsiderate Glass Cat, with pink brains and a hard ruby heart."

"No one can regret more than I the fact that you made me," asserted the
cat, crouching upon the floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass tail
from side to side. "Your world is a very uninteresting place. I've
wandered through your gardens and in the forest until I'm tired of it
all, and when I come into the house the conversation of your fat wife
and of yourself bores me dreadfully."

"That is because I gave you different brains from those we ourselves
possess--and much too good for a cat," returned Dr. Pipt.

"Can't you take 'em out, then, and replace 'em with pebbles, so that I
won't feel above my station in life?" asked the cat, pleadingly.

"Perhaps so. I'll try it, after I've brought the Patchwork Girl to
life," he said.

The cat walked up to the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined and
looked at her attentively.

"Are you going to make that dreadful thing live?" she asked.

The Magician nodded.

"It is intended to be my wife's servant maid," he said. "When she is
alive she will do all our work and mind the house. But you are not to
order her around, Bungle, as you do us. You must treat the Patchwork
Girl respectfully."

"I won't. I couldn't respect such a bundle of scraps under any
circumstances."

"If you don't, there will be more scraps than you will like," cried
Margolotte, angrily.

"Why didn't