Peg rubbed her wooden forehead in perplexity, for it was all very puzzling indeed. Below their little hill stretched the lovely land of the Winkies, with its great green forests and little yellow villages. The wind sent the leaves dancing above Peg’s head and the early sunbeams made lovely patterns on the grass. “I’ve seen it before!” gasped the Wooden Doll breathlessly. “The trees, the birds, the houses and everything!” Springing to her feet she ran awkwardly from bush to tree, touching the leaves and bending over the flowers as if they were old friends. Had it not been for the squeaking of her wooden joints, Peg would almost have forgotten she was a Wooden Doll, for at the sight of the lovely green growing things something warm and sunny seemed to waken in her stiff wooden breast. “I’ve been alive before,” said Peg Amy over and over. Suddenly, through the still morning air, came a loud, shrill laugh. Peg, who had been standing with her cheek pressed closely against a small tree, swung around quickly—so quickly in fact that she fell over and lay in a ridiculously bent double position before the new-comers. It was Kabumpo and the Prince of Pumperdink. Traveling by the same road Wag had chosen but much more rapidly, the Elegant Elephant had come at sunrise to the little hill. He had been watching Peg for some time, and when he saw her dance awkwardly over to the tree, he could no longer restrain himself. “Get out your mirror!” roared Kabumpo, shaking all over with mirth. “Here is your Proper Princess, Pompa, my boy—as royal a maiden as the country boasts. Ho, ho! Kerumph!” [Illustration: (unlabelled)] “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Pompa, looking down curiously at the comical figure of Peg Amy. “But she’s so funny!” gasped Kabumpo, the tears rolling down his big cheeks. “Who’s funny?” demanded an angry voice and Wag, who had been awakened by Kabumpo’s loud roars, hopped up, his ears quivering with rage. “I’ll pull your long nose for you!” cried Wag, advancing threateningly. “Don’t you dare make fun of Peg. What are you, anyway?” “Great Grump!” choked Kabumpo, without answering Wag’s inquiry. “What kind of a rabbit is this?” “A clawing, chawing, scratching kind—as you’ll soon find out!” Wag drew himself up into a ball and prepared to launch himself at Kabumpo’s head, when Peg straightened up and caught him by the ear. “Don’t, Wag, please,” she begged. “He couldn’t help laughing. I am funny. You know I am!” she sighed a bit ruefully. “You’re not funny to me,” blustered Wag, still glaring at Kabumpo. “Who does he think he is?” “I?” sniffed Kabumpo, spreading out his ears complacently, “I am the Elegant Elephant of Pumperdink. Notice my pearls; gaze upon my robe.” “You don’t look very elegant to me,” snorted Wag. “You look more like a tramp. Says he’s a lelegant nelephant from Dumperpink,” he whispered scornfully to Peg.