Mogodore Meets More Magic Soon the fragrance of an appetizing repast began to float out to the unhappy prisoners in the garden. Dusk turned to darkness, lights shone from every room in the palace, and in dreadful suspense and discomfort they waited for Mogodore's next move. "That robber baron really means to marry you," groaned Trot, who was tied to a tree near Ozma, and as if to confirm her words two spearmen came marching determinedly toward them. "Her Majesty, Queen Ozma is wanted within," bawled the first man, looking around. "Ozma of Oz, this way please." Immediately the little fairy was released from her chains. "Never mind," she whispered as Trot burst into tears, "remember, Scraps is free and will find a way to help us." "She'd better hurry," shivered Dorothy, and with sinking hearts they all saw their little leader marched away between the guards. Well-filled plates were being brought out to the soldiers in the garden, but no refreshment of any kind was offered to the prisoners, nor did Betsy Bobbin, crouched in the center of the butterfly bush, find any opportunity to escape from her hiding place. Inside a great feast was laid in the banquet hall and the rude warriors were already seated and banging on the table with their gold forks and knives. Wagarag, an apron tied hastily over his armor, was supervising the festivities and Mogodore, seated at the head of the table, without even rising waved Ozma to a place beside him. With a little sigh of despair, Ozma slipped into the green throne chair. "Your future Lady in Waiting," grunted Mogodore, pointing rudely to Shirley Sunshine, who sat on his other side. "I did truly intend to marry this Princess, but find you so much more charming I have chosen you instead." "Hurrah for the Queen of Oz and Baffleburg!" yelled the spearmen boisterously. Shirley, under cover of the rattling knives and forks tried to whisper her story to Ozma, but Mogodore's loud roars for food soon put an end to that and, pale with distaste and fright, the two little Princesses sat silent, scarcely touching a mouthful of the food that was unceremoniously dumped upon their plates. With a shudder, Ozma looked around her tidy castle. Mud had been tracked over all the velvet rugs, pictures hung sideways and the floor was strewn with broken vases and plates that spearmen playfully hurled at one another between courses. If Scraps succeeded in reaching the castle of Glinda, the good Sorceress who ruled over the South, Ozma knew this powerful ally would immediately fly to her assistance. With agonized ears, she listened for the wings of Glinda's swan chariot. But time went on and no one came. Now that the hunger of the rough company was appeased, they grew more noisy than ever.