ueer-looking people
creeping toward them. These singular individuals stopped between each
step and stood perfectly still, and Dorothy was so surprised at their
unusual appearance that she laughed right in the middle of a yawn.

In the first place, they never lifted their feet, but pushed them
along like skates. The women were dressed in gray polka-dot dresses
with huge poke bonnets that almost hid their fat, sleepy,
wide-mouthed faces. Most of them had pet snails on strings, and so
slowly did they move that it looked as though the snails were tugging
them along.

The men were dressed like a party of congressmen, but instead of high
hats wore large red nightcaps, and they were all as solemn as owls.
It seemed impossible for them to keep both eyes open at the same
time, and at first Dorothy thought they were winking at her. But as
the whole company continued to stare fixedly with one open eye, she
burst out laughing. At the unexpected sound (for no one had ever
laughed in Pokes before), the women picked up their snails in a great
fright, and the men clapped their fingers to their ears or to the
places where their ears were under the red nightcaps.

"These must be the Slow Pokes," giggled Dorothy, nudging the Cowardly
Lion. "Let's go to meet them, for they'll never reach us at the rate
they are coming!"

"There's something wrong with my feet," rumbled the Cowardly Lion
without looking up. "Hah, hoh, hum! What's the use of hurrying?" The
fact of the matter was that they couldn't hurry if they tried.
Indeed, they could hardly lift their feet at all.

"I wish the Scarecrow were with us," sighed the Cowardly Lion,
shuffling along unhappily. "He never grows sleepy, and he always
knows what to do."

"No use wishing," yawned Dorothy. "I only hope he's not as lost as we
are."

By struggling hard, they just managed to keep moving, and by the time
they came up with the Slow Pokes, they were completely worn out. A
cross-looking Poke held up his arm threateningly, and Dorothy and the
Cowardly Lion stopped.

"You--" said the Poke; then closed his mouth and stood staring
vacantly for a whole minute.

"Are--" He brought out the word with a perfectly enormous yawn, and
Dorothy began fanning the Cowardly Lion with her hat, for he showed
signs of falling asleep again.

"What?" she asked crossly.

"Under--" sighed the Poke after a long pause, and Dorothy, seeing
that there was no hurrying him, began counting to herself. Just