Someone was coming toward the palace. A little gray-cloaked old gentleman—a surprisingly quick and nimble old gentleman—springing from cloud to cloud and pausing now and then to straighten a huge sack he carried over his left shoulder. He was so busy admiring the lovely sky colors behind him and waving merrily at the fluffy cloud figures above his head, that he did not see Ozma’s shining palace until he was almost upon it. “Stars!” murmured the little old gentleman, balancing perilously on the very edge of a silver cloud. “Another air castle! How delightful! I shall jump right through it!” Gathering himself together he leaped straight toward the window out of which Dorothy and Ozma and the others were looking. With a soft thud he struck the emerald setting just above the window, and down tumbled his sack, opening as it fell and filling the air with clouds of silver sand. Down tumbled the little old gentleman, turning over and over, and finally landing on a blankety white cloud far below. All of this Dorothy saw, and was about to ask Ozma what it could mean when an overpowering drowsiness stole over her. Before she could speak her eyes closed, and she sank backward into a big arm chair. Trot and Betsy Bobbin with two little sighs crumpled down to the floor. The head of Sir Hokus dropped heavily on the sill, and not even in Pokes had he snored so lustily. Ozma slipped gently down beside Betsy and Trot, and in a moment there was not a person awake in that whole big palace. Even the little mice in the kitchen were fast asleep, with heads on their paws. Did I say everyone? Well, not quite everyone had fallen under the strange spell. Tik Tok, Scraps, and the Scarecrow, who had never slept in their lives, were still wide awake, and regarding their companions with astonishment and alarm. The Tin Woodman was taking things calmly, oiling up his joints and polishing his tin jacket with silver polish. “This is no time to sleep,” cried the Scarecrow, shaking Sir Hokus. “I say—wake up!” But all their efforts to arouse their companions were in vain. “En-chant-ment,” said the Copper Man. “Some—” With a click and a whirr Tik Tok’s machinery ran down, and as Scraps and the Scarecrow were too upset to think of winding him, he stood as silent and dumb as the rest. “What shall we do?” cried the Scarecrow, seizing Scraps’ arm. “Jump out of the window and go for help, or stay here and guard the palace?” Scraps looked out of the window. “Stay here,” shuddered the Patch Work Girl, drawing in her head quickly.