ow voice she pronounced the word "Ev."

The rooms were quite empty of life after that. The Nome King had gained
a new ornament. For upon the edge of the table rested a pretty
grasshopper, that seemed to have been formed from a single emerald. It
was all that remained of Ozma of Oz.

In the throne room just beyond the palace the Nome King suddenly looked
up and smiled.

"Next!" he said, in his pleasant voice.

Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, who had been sitting in
anxious silence, each gave a start of dismay and stared into one
another's eyes.

"Has she failed?" asked Tiktok.

"So it seems," answered the little monarch, cheerfully. "But that is no
reason one of you should not succeed. The next may have twelve guesses,
instead of eleven, for there are now twelve persons transformed into
ornaments. Well, well! Which of you goes next?"

"I'll go," said Dorothy.

"Not so," replied the Tin Woodman. "As commander of Ozma's army, it is
my privilege to follow her and attempt her rescue."

"Away you go, then," said the Scarecrow. "But be careful, old friend."

"I will," promised the Tin Woodman; and then he followed the Nome King
to the entrance to the palace and the rock closed behind him.

[Illustration]

The Nome King Laughs

[Illustration]

In a moment the King returned to his throne and relighted his pipe, and
the rest of the little band of adventurers settled themselves for
another long wait. They were greatly disheartened by the failure of
their girl Ruler, and the knowledge that she was now an ornament in the
Nome King's palace--a dreadful, creepy place in spite of all its
magnificence. Without their little leader they did not know what to do
next, and each one, down to the trembling private of the army, began to
fear he would soon be more ornamental than useful.

Suddenly the Nome King began laughing.

"Ha, ha, ha! He, he, he! Ho, ho, ho!"

"What's happened?" asked the Scarecrow.

"Why, your friend, the Tin Woodman, has become the funniest thing you
can imagine," replied the King, wiping the tears of merriment from his
eyes. "No one would ever believe he could make such an amusing ornament.
Next!"

They gazed at each other with sinking hearts. One of the generals began
to weep dolefully.

"What are you crying for?" asked the Scarecrow, indignant at such a
display of weakness.

"He owed me six weeks back pay," said the general, "and I hate to lose
him."

"Then you shall