he Scarecrow was tossed violently upward. While he
endeavored to regain his balance, the two Middlings eyed him
curiously.

"So this is the kind of thing they grow on top," said one, holding a
lantern close to the Scarecrow's head.

"Toll, Toll!" droned the other, holding out a horribly twisted hand.

"One moment, your Royal Middleness!" cried the Scarecrow, backing as
far away from the lantern as he could, for with a straw stuffing one
cannot be too careful of fire. He felt in his pocket for an emerald
he had picked up in the Emerald City a few days before and handed it
gingerly to the Muddy monarch.

"Why do you call me Middleness?" the King demanded angrily, taking
the emerald.

"Is your kingdom not in the middle of the earth, and are you not
royalty? What could be more proper than Royal Middleness?" asked the
Scarecrow, flecking the dust from his hat.

Now that he had a better view, he saw that _the two were entirely men
of mud,_ and very roughly put together. Dried grass hair stood erect
upon each head, and their faces were large and lumpy and had a
disconcerting way of changing shape. Indeed, when the King leaned
over to examine the Scarecrow, his features were so soft they seemed
to run into his cheek, which hung down alarmingly, while his nose
turned sideways and lengthened at least an inch!

Muddle pushed the King's nose back and began spreading his cheek into
place. Instead of hands and feet, the Middlings had gnarled and
twisted roots which curled up in a perfectly terrifying manner. Their
teeth were gold, and their eyes shone like small electric lights.
They wore stiff coats of dried mud, buttoned clumsily with lumps of
coal, and the King had a tall mud crown. Altogether, the Scarecrow
thought he had never seen more disagreeable looking creatures.

"What he needs," spluttered the King, fingering the jewel greedily,
"is a coat of mud! Shall we pull him in, Muddle?"

"He's very poorly made, your Mudjesty. Can you work, Carescrow?"
asked Muddle, thumping him rudely in the chest.

"Scarecrow, if you please!" The Scarecrow drew himself up and spoke
with great difficulty. "I can work with my head!" he added proudly.

"Your head!" roared the King. "Did you hear that, Muddle? He works
with his head. What's the matter with your hands?" Again the King
lunged forward, and this time his face fell on the other side and had
bulged enormously before Muddle could pat it into shape. They began
whispering excite