For a moment Philador was too startled to move. Then as a deep roar from the throat of Quiberon came reverberating through the grotto, he sprang upon the gull's back and clasping his arms around its neck whispered hoarsely, "Carry me to the Good Witch of the North!" With scarcely a flutter, the great gull rose, mounting higher and higher, till the Ozure Isles were no more than sparkling dots on the waters of the Lake. Akbad, standing under the magic tree in the King's garden, saw a great shadow cross the moon. Brushing his hand uneasily across his eyes he looked again, but this time the shadow had gone. Concluding that it had been but a dark cloud, the Soothsayer drew a deep breath and, leaning forward, broke the golden pear from the sacred bough. Now Akbad hardly knew what to expect, but the thing that did happen exceeded his wildest imaginings. The pear in his hands grew larger and larger, bursting finally with such a golden splutter and glare he was almost blinded. Stars! It was a pair of wings! Thoroughly frightened, the soothsayer fell back against the tree, putting up both hands to beat off the whirling pinions. But it was no use. The great wings swooped down upon him and next moment had fastened themselves to his shoulders. His heart, as they lifted him into the air, dropped so suddenly into his boots both boots fell off. Motionless and helpless and just above the emerald tree he hung suspended, trembling so violently his turban came unwound and fluttered like a banner in the evening breeze. For about as long as you could count ten Akbad dangled limply between the golden wings. Then recovering a little of his courage he moistened his lips and muttered weakly. "Take me to the Emerald City of Oz." Next instant, another shadow had crossed the moon and Akbad, like some strange ungainly bird, was being borne swiftly and silently towards the South. [Illustration: THE VANISHED QUEEN OF THE OZURE ISLES] CHAPTER 3 The Strange Public Benefactor In the dusty shop of Dan, the second-hand man, there was no sound except the whirr of a rickety sewing machine in the back room. Dan bought old clothes which he mended and pressed and sold again to people who could not afford new ones. Usually he spent every evening in his dim little Boston shop, but to-night Dan's niece was to be married, and the old clothes man was hurriedly stitching up a rent in a dress suit he had bought that very morning from a dusky gentleman in Grant street. It was worn and shabby, but surveying himself in the cracked mirror a few moments later Danny felt he would look quite as fine as the groom. Well pleased with his appearance he nodded to his reflection and taking down a second-hand high hat from his shelf let himself out into the night.