tner, indeed," asserted the donkey, rubbing his front hoofs together
as if highly pleased.

"The sign says that you are wise," remarked Scraps to the donkey. "I
wish you would prove it."

"With great pleasure," returned the beast. "Put me to the test, my dear
Patches, and I'll prove my wisdom in the wink of an eye."

"What is the best way to get to the Emerald City?" asked Ojo.

"Walk," said the donkey.

"I know; but what road shall I take?" was the boy's next question.

"The road of yellow bricks, of course. It leads directly to the Emerald
City."

"And how shall we find the road of yellow bricks?"

"By keeping along the path you have been following. You'll come to the
yellow bricks pretty soon, and you'll know them when you see them
because they're the only yellow things in the blue country."

"Thank you," said the boy. "At last you have told me something."

"Is that the extent of your wisdom?" asked Scraps.

"No," replied the donkey; "I know many other things, but they wouldn't
interest you. So I'll give you a last word of advice: move on, for the
sooner you do that the sooner you'll get to the Emerald City of Oz."

"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!" screeched the owl;

"Off you go! fast or slow,
Where you're going you don't know.
Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,
Facing fortunes good and bad,
Meeting dangers grave and sad,
Sometimes worried, sometimes glad--
Where you're going you don't know,
Nor do I, but off you go!"

"Sounds like a hint, to me," said the Patchwork Girl.

"Then let's take it and go," replied Ojo.

They said good-bye to the Wise Donkey and the Foolish Owl and at once
resumed their journey.

Chapter Nine

They Meet the Woozy

"There seem to be very few houses around here, after all," remarked
Ojo, after they had walked for a time in silence.

"Never mind," said Scraps; "we are not looking for houses, but rather
the road of yellow bricks. Won't it be funny to run across something
yellow in this dismal blue country?"

"There are worse colors than yellow in this country," asserted the
Glass Cat, in a spiteful tone.

"Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call your brains, and your red
heart and green eyes?" asked the Patchwork Girl.

"No; I mean you, if you must know it," growled the cat.

"You're jealous!" laughed Scraps. "You'd give your whiskers for a
lovely variegated complexion like mine."

"I wouldn't!" retorted the cat. "I've t