The foot-path jiggled so frightfully while he wrote ’tis a wonder it could understand the directions at all, but as he let the pencil drop, it turned sharply in its tracks and started racing in the opposite direction, tripping and stumbling in its eagerness to get ahead. By the time they reached the Quilty Kingdom, the three travellers were so shaken up and down they tumbled off the path in a perfect heap of exhaustion. Even Scraps, in her imprisoning bag, had nothing at all to say. Not satisfied with shaking them nearly to bits, the foot-path gave Piecer a playful kick with its forty-ninth foot and then, jumping over a green cotton patch, gaily took its departure. Now, ever since morning, the Patch-workers had been anxiously awaiting the return of their ministers and, as the two exhausted sovereign seekers rolled through the gates, a great crowd of Quilties came hurrying to meet them. “What have you bagged? Who is our ruler? Show us the Imperial Potentate,” they cried, clattering their shears and shaking their sewing boxes. Seeing that nothing would satisfy them but an immediate sight of the Queen, Scrapper scrambled wearily to his feet and began fumbling with the strings of the bag. “Will your Imperial Highness deign to step out?” suggested Scrapper, sticking his head cautiously into the bag. [Illustration] “Out!” shrilled Scraps, and bouncing up like a Jill in the box, gave Scrapper a resounding smack on the ear. “You villain ragman Take me back How dare you hurl Me in a sack?” she cried furiously and, whirling upon Piecer, boxed his ears as soundly as she had boxed Scrapper’s. At this the delight of the Quilties knew no bounds. They began to cheer and stamp with approval. “What a fine temper! What a marvelous beauty! She’s the Queen for us.” And raising their shears they shouted altogether, “Hurrah for the Queen of the Quilties!” “Try to act like a Queen, can’t you?” puffed Scrapper, seizing the agitated Patchwork Girl by the arm. “You’re making a great hit!” whispered Piecer persuasively. “Give me your name, maiden, so I can announce it to your subjects.” By this time Scraps had recovered enough to look around and what she saw interested her greatly. The gaudy Quilty Kingdom, with its gay cotton patches, the Quilties themselves, in their oddly patched clothes, seemed as beautiful to Scraps as she seemed to them. “What do you mean? Am I a Queen?” she demanded, rolling her suspender button eyes from side to side. The Prime Ministers of Patch nodded and, as they did, two Quilties, with a huge patchwork arm chair on wheels, pushed their way through the crowd. “Quick, now, your name,” begged Piecer. When Scraps, in an excited whisper, imparted the information, he cried in a loud voice: “Hats off to Her Patchesty! Three cheers for Queen Scraps of Patch!” [Illustration]