But when the door opened to admit not only the Shaggy Man, but Scraps,
the Woozy and the Glass Cat, Dorothy jumped up and looked at her
strange visitors in amazement. The Patchwork Girl was the most curious
of all and Dorothy was uncertain at first whether Scraps was really
alive or only a dream or a nightmare. Toto, her dog, slowly uncurled
himself and going to the Patchwork Girl sniffed at her inquiringly; but
soon he lay down again, as if to say he had no interest in such an
irregular creation.

"You're a new one to me," Dorothy said reflectively, addressing the
Patchwork Girl. "I can't imagine where you've come from."

"Who, me?" asked Scraps, looking around the pretty room instead of at
the girl. "Oh, I came from a bed-quilt, I guess. That's what they say,
anyhow. Some call it a crazy-quilt and some a patchwork quilt. But my
name is Scraps--and now you know all about me."

"Not quite all," returned Dorothy with a smile. "I wish you'd tell me
how you came to be alive."

"That's an easy job," said Scraps, sitting upon a big upholstered chair
and making the springs bounce her up and down. "Margolotte wanted a
slave, so she made me out of an old bed-quilt she didn't use. Cotton
stuffing, suspender-button eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for
teeth. The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life, sprinkled me with it
and--here I am. Perhaps you've noticed my different colors. A very
refined and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I met, told me
I am the most beautiful creature in all Oz, and I believe it."

"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?" asked Dorothy, a little puzzled
to understand the brief history related.

"Yes; isn't he jolly?"

"The Scarecrow has many good qualities," replied Dorothy. "But I'm
sorry to hear all this 'bout the Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as
hops when she hears he's been doing magic again. She told him not to."

"He only practices magic for the benefit of his own family," explained
Bungle, who was keeping at a respectful distance from the little black
dog.

"Dear me," said Dorothy; "I hadn't noticed you before. Are you glass,
or what?"

"I'm glass, and transparent, too, which is more than can be said of
some folks," answered the cat. "Also I have some lovely pink brains;
you can see 'em work."

"Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see."

The Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.

"Send that beast away and I will," she said.

"Beast! Why, that's my dog Tot