Ruggedo said nothing, but his little red eyes blazed maliciously. Reaching down, he lifted out the box and, clasping it to his fat little stomach, shook his fist at the high domed ceiling of the cave. “Now!” hissed Ruggedo triumphantly. “Now we shall see what mixed magic will do to the Emerald City of Oz!” [Illustration: (unlabelled)] Chapter 7 Sir Hokus And The Giants “Oh!” sighed Sir Hokus of Pokes and Oz, stretching his armored legs to the fire. “How I yearn to slay a giant! How it would refresh me! Hast any real giants in Oz, Dorothy?” “Don’t you remember the candy giant?” laughed the little girl, looking up from the handkerchief she was making for Ozma. “Not to my taste,” said the Knight, “though his vest buttons were vastly nourishing.” “Well, there’s Mr. Yoop—he’s a real blood-and-bone giant. There are plenty of giants, I guess, if we knew just where to find them!” said the little girl, biting off her thread. “Find ’em—bind ’em, Get behind ’em! Hokus Pokus He don’t mind ’em!” screamed the Patch Work Girl, bounding out of her chair. “But why can’t you stay peaceably at home, old Iron Sides, and be jolly like the rest of us?” “You don’t understand, Scraps,” put in Dorothy gravely. “Sir Hokus is a Knight and it is a true Knight’s duty to slay giants and dragons and go on quests!” “_That_ it is, my Lady Patches!” boomed Sir Hokus, puffing out his chest. “I’ve rusted here in idleness long enough. To-morrow, with Ozma’s permission, I shall start on a giant quest.” “I’d go with you, only I’ve promised to help Ozma count the royal emeralds,” said the Scarecrow, who had ridden over from his Corn-Ear residence to spend a week with his old friends in the Emerald City. “Giants, Sir, are bluff and rude And might mistake a man for food! Hokus Pokus, be discreet, Or you will soon be giant meat!” chuckled the Patch Work Girl, crooking her finger under the Knight’s nose. “Nonsense!” blustered Sir Hokus, waving Scraps aside. Rising from his green arm chair, he strode up and down the room, his armor clanking at every step. Straightway the company began to tell about wild giants they had read of or known. Trot and Betsy Bobbin held hands as they sat together on the sofa, and Toto, Dorothy’s small dog, crept closer to his little mistress, the bristles on his back rising higher as each story was finished. “Giant stories are all very well, but why tell ’em at night?” shivered Toto, peering nervously at the long shadows in the corners of the room.