the birds flew over the forest to where a tall
dead tree stood higher than all the other trees. At the very top was a
crotch, formed by two dead limbs, and into the crotch the crows dropped
the center of the line. Then, letting go their hold, they flew away,
chattering with laughter, and left the two friends suspended high in the
air--one on each side of the tree.

Now the Tin Woodman was much heavier than the Scarecrow, but the reason
they balanced so nicely was because the straw man still clung fast to
the iron anchor. There they hung, not ten feet apart, yet unable to
reach the bare tree-trunk.

"For goodness sake don't drop that anchor," said the Tin Woodman
anxiously.

"Why not?" inquired the Scarecrow.

"If you did I'd tumble to the ground, where my tin would be badly dented
by the fall. Also you would shoot into the air and alight somewhere
among the tree-tops."

"Then," said the Scarecrow, earnestly, "I shall hold fast to the
anchor."

For a time they both dangled in silence, the breeze swaying them gently
to and fro. Finally the tin man said: "Here is an emergency, friend,
where only brains can help us. We must think of some way to escape."

"I'll do the thinking," replied the Scarecrow. "My brains are the
sharpest."

He thought so long that the tin man grew tired and tried to change his
position, but found his joints had already rusted so badly that he could
not move them. And his oil-can was back in the boat.

"Do you suppose your brains are rusted, friend Scarecrow?" he asked in a
weak voice, for his jaws would scarcely move.

"No, indeed. Ah, here's an idea at last!"

And with this the Scarecrow clapped his hands to his head, forgetting
the anchor, which tumbled to the ground. The result was astonishing;
for, just as the tin man had said, the light Scarecrow flew into the
air, sailed over the top of the tree and landed in a bramble-bush, while
the tin man fell plump to the ground, and landing on a bed of dry leaves
was not dented at all. The Tin Woodman's joints were so rusted, however,
that he was unable to move, while the thorns held the Scarecrow a fast
prisoner.

While they were in this sad plight the sound of hoofs was heard and
along the forest path rode the little Wizard of Oz, seated on a wooden
Sawhorse. He smiled when he saw the one-eyed head of the Scarecrow
sticking out of the bramble-bush, but he helped the poor straw man out
of his prison.

"Thank you, dear Wiz," said the gra