Drawing aside the curtain that covered the picture the Scarecrow demanded loudly, “Where are we?” Scraps held the candle so that its flickering rays fell directly on the picture. Then both jumped in earnest, for in a flash the face of Ruggedo, the wicked old gnome King, appeared, on his head a great, green towering sort of hat. The Scarecrow seized the candle from Scraps and held it closer to the picture. He squinted up one eye and almost rubbed his painted nose off. “Great Kinkajous!” spluttered the Straw Man distractedly. “That’s a palace on his head—an Emerald palace—Ozma’s palace!” “But how?” asked Scraps, her suspender button eyes almost dropping out. “He’s nothing but a gnome. He’s—” [Illustration: (unlabelled)] Before Scraps could finish her sentence the palace began to tilt forward and they both fell upon their faces. Then the picture jerked loose and fell with a clattering slam on their heads, followed by such ornaments as had not already tumbled down before. Through it all Scraps held the candle high in air and fortunately it did not go out, despite the turmoil. In a few moments the palace stopped rocking and a muffled call from Ozma sent the Scarecrow and Scraps hurrying to her bedside. After some trouble, for they were both flimsily made, they managed to free the little Princess of Oz from the poles and bed curtains. “Goodness!” sighed Ozma, looking around at the terrible confusion. “Not goodness, but badness,” said the Scarecrow, settling his hat firmly, “and Ruggedo is at the bottom of it and of us.” He quickly explained to Ozma what he had seen in the Magic Picture. Slipping on a silk robe, Ozma followed them into the next room. When the picture had been rehung, they all looked again. This time Ozma asked where the palace was. Immediately the old Gnome King appeared and there could be no mistake—the palace was set squarely on his head. The picture did not show the real size of Ruggedo nor of the palace, but it was enough. “He must have sprung into a giant,” gasped Ozma, scarcely believing her eyes. “Oh, what shall we do?” “The first thing to do is to keep him quiet. Every time he shakes his head it tumbles us about so,” complained the Scarecrow, plumping up the straw in his chest. “And we must look after Dorothy and Betsy and Trot.” “And Sir Hokus,” added the Patch Work Girl, flinging out one hand. “He’s yearning to slay a giant. ’Way for the Giant Killer!” Without waiting for the others Scraps ran back to Dorothy’s sitting room. Lighting another candle, for all the lights in the palace were out, Ozma and the Scarecrow followed. “Odds Goblins!” gasped the Knight, as they entered. He was sitting up with one hand to his head. “Not goblins—giants!” cried the Patch Work Girl, with a bounce, while Ozma ran for some water to restore her three little friends. “Where?” puffed the Knight, lurching to his feet.