Peter's grandfather, with whom the little boy lived, had not tried to explain them, for Peter's grandfather was old enough to believe almost anything. So he and Peter had spent one bag of gold very gaily on a trip to the coast, on motorcycles for Peter and his best friends, on a club house for the team, on canoes and some more things, too. The other bag they had changed into United States dollars and put into the bank, so that Peter might go to college and other important places when he was grown. And now, with the rain drumming steadily on the roof, Peter fell to dreaming again of Oz, of its curious Kings and castles, its wizards and witches and magic transformations. Could it have been two years ago that he and the Gnome King escaped from Runaway Island? "I wish," sighed Peter, giving the top sack a little shake, "I wish I could go back to Oz sometime. Hello! What's this?" In the corner of the top sack he felt something hard and round and thrusting in his hand drew out a thin shiny piece of gold. "Why, here's one we didn't find," chuckled Peter, holding it up to the light. "It's not so large as the others. I believe I'll keep it for a lucky piece." Resting his head against a small trunk, Peter sank back and was soon lost in pleasant reveries. "Gee-whiz!" he breathed at last, flipping the pirate's coin into the air. "It certainly would be great to go to Oz again. I wish I were there right now!" As the gold piece dropped into Peter's palm, Peter himself dropped out of sight. At least, he was no longer in the attic, or in Philadelphia either, for that matter. He was, to be perfectly truthful, standing before a small yellow cottage in the middle of a pumpkin field, and the whole trip, reflected Peter, staring around a bit wildly, had taken no longer than one puff and swallow. A drop such as this was enough to make a body puff and swallow several times, so he did. Then, having regained a little of his composure, he looked uncertainly at the yellow house. It was shaped like an enormous hollowed out pumpkin, but had several windows and a front door, so Peter walked boldly up the steps and knocked twice. He could hear footsteps running about inside and presently a head was thrust out the second story window. "Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring down curiously. [Illustration: _"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring out curiously._] "It's me, er--er it's I!" Peter, remembering his grammar corrected himself quickly. At this, the owner of the house, in order to have a better look at his visitor, leaned so far out the window that Peter gave a sharp cry. "Oh look out!" he called warningly, for the man's head seemed ready to fall off, was falling off, in fact. "I am looking out," it called cheerfully, as it turned over and over in the air. "That's just the trouble! Catch my head will you?" And next minute Peter found himself clasping a large pumpkin head in both arms.