the morning."

"All right! Take care of yourself," yawned the farmer, and drew in
his head.

For a long time the Scarecrow stood perfectly still beside the bean
pole--thinking. Then he got a spade from the shed and began clearing
away the cornstalks and dried leaves from around the base of the
pole. It was slow work, for his fingers were clumsy, but he
persevered. Then a wonderful idea came to him.

"Perhaps if I dig down a bit, I may discover--" He got no further,
for at the word "discover," he pushed the spade down with all his
might. There was a loud crash. The bottom dropped out of things, and
the Scarecrow fell through.

"Gr-eat cornstalks!" cried the Scarecrow, throwing up his arms. To
his surprise, they came in contact with a stout pole, which he
embraced. It was a lifesaver, for he was shooting down into the
darkness at a great rate.

"Why!" he gasped as soon as he regained his breath, for he was
falling at a terrific rate of speed, "Why, I believe I'm sliding down
the _bean pole!"_

CHAPTER 3

DOWN THE MAGIC BEAN POLE

Hugging the bean pole for dear life, the Scarecrow slid rapidly
downward, Everything was dark, but at times a confused roaring
sounded in his ears.

"Father, I hear something falling past!" shouted a gruff voice all at
once.

"Then reach out and pull it in," growled a still deeper voice. There
was a flash of light, a door opened suddenly, and a giant hand
snatched the air just above the Scarecrow's head.

"It's a good thing I haven't a heart to fail me," murmured the
Scarecrow, glancing up fearfully and clinging more tightly to the
pole. "Though I fall, I shall not falter. But where under the earth
am I falling to?" At that minute, a door opened far below, and
someone called up:

"Who are you? Have out your toll and be ready to salute the Royal
Ruler of the Middlings!"

The Scarecrow had learned in the course of his many and strange
adventures that it was best to accede to every request that was
reasonable or possible. Realizing that unless he answered at once he
would fall past his strange questioners, he shouted amiably:

"I am the Scarecrow of Oz, sliding down my family tree!" The words
echoed oddly in the narrow passageway, and by the time he reached the
word "tree" the Scarecrow could make out two large brown men leaning
from a door somewhere below. Next minute he came to a sharp stop. A
board had shot out and closed off the passageway. So sudden was the
stop that t