"Belfaygor, Belfaygor," mused Snif, repeating the name over several times. "I remember now--he's one of the good barons. Let's go on to his castle and see what has happened to him." But they did not have to wait till they reached the castle to find out, for halfway through the park, they came upon the baron himself. His ruby crown, magnificent red boots, richly embroidered cape, proclaimed his rank at once, but it was his beard that Peter saw first and never forgot afterward--a red beard that flashed and flowed down his breast and swirled around his feet in an angry red tide. With his head thrown back, a pair of shears in each hand, Belfaygor was clipping desperately at the shining waves that seemed to pour in a steady torrent from his chin. At each clip he groaned and at each groan he clipped. "My beard!" choked the baron. "My bride and my beard!" And so engrossed and distressed was the unhappy gentleman that he neither saw nor heard the Iffin's approach. "So this is what comes of mesmerizing," snorted Snif, stopping so suddenly he almost unseated his riders. "His beard is running away with him. What can we do about it?" "Can we be of any help?" called Peter, more practically. "Is there anything we can do Mr. Baron?" At Peter's question, Belfaygor gave a great start; then blinking up half seeingly at the strange company, gloomily shook his head. "Nothing can help me," moaned the baron, clipping furiously, "for nothing can stop this beard from growing. And that's not the worst, Mogodore the Mighty has stolen the Princess I was to marry and each time I try to run to rescue her my beard trips me up. Woe, woe, woe! Was ever a man so unhappy--so unlucky as I?" [Illustration: "Miserable mesmerizer," repeated the Baron dully.] "Where are your men," asked Snif, wrinkling up his nose anxiously. "Gone," said the Baron dully. "Frightened off by my beard, they have deserted me down to the smallest train bearer." "You don't need a train bearer. What you need is a beard bearer," puffed Jack Pumpkinhead, dismounting stiffly and stepping as close as he dared to the baron. "If you throw your beard over your shoulder, it will grow the other way," he suggested amiably. For a moment Belfaygor stared slowly at Jack, then flinging the red beard over one shoulder he extended both arms. "That's the only sensible thing I've heard since I was mesmerized," he shouted hoarsely. "I hereby appoint you Royal Bearer of the beard." "Thanks," murmured Jack, looking doubtfully at Peter. "Who are you?" demanded the baron in growing excitement and appreciation. "This Griffin I have seen before, but you, my good fellow are most odd and curious." "He is a Pumpkinhead, magically brought to life," volunteered Peter "and some pumpkins," he finished, with a wink at the Iffin. "No, only one," corrected Jack modestly. "I am a subject of Ozma of Oz and this boy is from America. As we are all on our way to the Emerald City, I cannot bear your beard."