"But," continued Ojo, "I'm left-handed."

"Many of our greatest men are that way," asserted the Emperor. "To be
left-handed is usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people are
usually one-handed."

"And I've a wart under my right arm," said Ojo.

"How lucky!" cried the Tin Woodman. "If it were on the end of your nose
it might be unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out of the way."

"For all those reasons," said the Munchkin boy, "I have been called Ojo
the Unlucky."

"Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you henceforth Ojo the
Lucky," declared the tin man. "Every reason you have given is absurd.
But I have noticed that those who continually dread ill luck and fear
it will overtake them, have no time to take advantage of any good
fortune that comes their way. Make up your mind to be Ojo the Lucky."

"How can I?" asked the boy, "when all my attempts to save my dear uncle
have failed?"

"Never give up, Ojo," advised Dorothy. "No one ever knows what's going
to happen next."

Ojo did not reply, but he was so dejected that even their arrival at
the Emerald City failed to interest him.

The people joyfully cheered the appearance of the Tin Woodman, the
Scarecrow and Dorothy, who were all three general favorites, and on
entering the royal palace word came to them from Ozma that she would at
once grant them an audience.

Dorothy told the girl Ruler how successful they had been in their quest
until they came to the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin
Woodman positively refused to sacrifice to the magic potion.

"He is quite right," said Ozma, who did not seem a bit surprised. "Had
Ojo told me that one of the things he sought was the wing of a yellow
butterfly I would have informed him, before he started out, that he
could never secure it. Then you would have been saved the troubles and
annoyances of your long journey."

"I didn't mind the journey at all," said Dorothy; "it was fun."

"As it has turned out," remarked Ojo, "I can never get the things the
Crooked Magician sent me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for
him to make the Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie cannot be saved."

Ozma smiled.

"Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life, I promise you," said she.
"I have sent for him and had him brought to this palace, where he now
is, and his four kettles have been destroyed and his book of recipes
burned up. I have also had brought here the marble statues of your
uncle and of Margolo