parted and a Loon appeared at
the other end of the string. It didn't take long to draw him down to
the throne, where he seated himself and was tied in, so he wouldn't
float upward again.

"Hello," said the King, blinking his purple eyes at his followers;
"what's up now!"

"Strangers, your Majesty--strangers and captives," replied the big
Loon, pompously.

"Dear me! I see 'em. I see 'em very plainly," exclaimed the King, his
purple eyes bulging out as he looked at the three prisoners. "What
curious animals! Are they dangerous, do you think, my good Panta?"

"I'm 'fraid so, your Majesty. Of course, they may not be dangerous, but
we mustn't take chances. Enough accidents happen to us poor Loons as it
is, and my advice is to condemn and perforate 'em as quickly as
possible."

"Keep your advice to yourself," said the monarch, in a peeved tone.
"Who's King here, anyhow? You or Me?"

"We made you our King because you have less common sense than the rest
of us," answered Panta Loon, indignantly. "I could have been King
myself, had I wanted to, but I didn't care for the hard work and
responsibility."

As he said this, the big Loon strutted back and forth in the space
between the throne of King Bal and the prisoners, and the other Loons
seemed much impressed by his defiance. But suddenly there came a sharp
report and Panta Loon instantly disappeared, to the great astonishment
of the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Woot the Wanderer, who saw on the
spot where the big fellow had stood a little heap of flabby, wrinkled
skin that looked like a collapsed rubber balloon.

"There!" exclaimed the King; "I expected that would happen. The
conceited rascal wanted to puff himself up until he was bigger than the
rest of you, and this is the result of his folly. Get the pump working,
some of you, and blow him up again."

"We will have to mend the puncture first, your Majesty," suggested one
of the Loons, and the prisoners noticed that none of them seemed
surprised or shocked at the sad accident to Panta.

"All right," grumbled the King. "Fetch Til to mend him."

One or two ran away and presently returned, followed by a lady Loon
wearing huge, puffed-up rubber skirts. Also she had a purple feather
fastened to a wart on the top of her head, and around her waist was a
sash of fibre-like vines, dried and tough, that looked like strings.

"Get to work, Til," commanded King Bal. "Panta has just exploded."

The lady Loon picked up th