I could tell her what was
going on. If all that the Woozy told me is true, the real Ozma would be
able to make things right again. As it is, I can't help Telly, and I can
never go home to America again, either!"

The horse nestled down beside the boy. Only then did he realize that
this was no normal horse that was speaking to him. She was different
from all horses in all Graham's experience. She was as pure white as the
driven snow, and her mane was a shiny silver. From the top of her head
grew a long, beautiful horn. "Wow!" exclaimed Graham. "Are you a real
unicorn?"

"So I've been told," laughed Jeanne-Marie. "But I am a long way from my
home, just like you are. I left that area because the other unicorns
didn't seem to understand my views on things. They thought I was strange
and that I was not worthy of the name of the unicorns. But I cannot help
what I am. I yearn to see all that there is to see of this Land of Oz in
which I live. And I wanted to find someone who could understand my
philosophies, too. None of the stallions of my breed took me seriously,
and I have never once felt true love. At least, not until I met
MacDonald Lindsay."

"Who is that?" wondered Graham.

"Well, I haven't actually met him in person," she admitted. "But I
overheard him talking to his helpers one day. He was telling them about
the need for all sentient beings to have a purpose in life. No one can
be fulfilled if he is not in some way making his existence count for
anything. He himself is in control of the finest dairy farm in Oz. He
has vast fields of milkweed that his helpers harvest for him in exchange
for their housing, food, and the occasional game of quoits."

"That sounds fair, I suppose," replied Graham, realizing that this group
was not one which was accustomed to using any form of money.

"Very much so," she said. "And the helpers--a unique tribe of
warthog-like amphibians known as wartfrogs--are highly contented with
their lot. MacDonald Lindsay allows them to come and go as they please,
and he has given each of them a home that is far more luxurious than his
own little lodging. Actually, MacDonald's farm is the only thing he has
that is luxurious. His personal abode is a simple cleft in a rock that
you can see from here in that little hill." She pointed with her horn.

"I see it," said Graham. "This MacDonald fellow sounds like a good
enough guy."

"Oh, he is very good," said Jeanne-Marie. "But very mysterious. I hav