Now, one of the delightful things about Oz is that all the animals and birds can talk; and as talk of any kind interested Scraps she began to feel quite cheerful and like herself. “You mean Queen Scraps,” corrected the little bear, eyeing the work-basket on her head with great respect. “Not if I can help it!” cried the Patchwork Girl, springing out of her seat and rattling the crown jewels defiantly. “The country is all right, but who ever heard of a Queen doing all the work? It’s ridiculous.” “Queen Cross Patch liked to work,” muttered Grumpy. Then, sitting down thoughtlessly on a pin-cushion, he arose with a loud roar. “Well, I don’t,” said Scraps, while Grumpy, growling furiously, pulled two needles from his fur. “So I hope Ozma looks in the Magic Picture soon, but whether she does or not I shall run off first chance I get-- “Back to the city of sun and song, Back to the city where I belong!” “It’ll be a long time before they let you,” observed Grumpy thoughtfully, “and if you try to escape the Scissor Bird will cut off your head. What would you do then?” “Have it sewed on again,” declared Scraps stoutly, but she shivered a little at the prospect and in a slightly shaky voice inquired, “Don’t you know any games or riddles? No one’s around now and we might as well have some fun.” Grumpy shook his head, then brightening up a little he slid out of his chair. “Cross Patch and I always cuffed each other a bit after dinner,” he said casually. “Cuffed each other!” gasped Scraps. “What for?” “For practice,” explained Grumpy solemnly. “You have no idea how many new cross words we learned that way. It’s simply astonishing what cross words you can think of when someone thumps you on the ear. Come on--let’s try it. You’ll need to know a lot of cross words.” Drawing back his fuzzy arm, Grumpy gave the Patchwork Girl a cuff that sent her flying into the corner. “What a pleasant pastime!” puffed Scraps, picking herself up with a flounce. “Do you call that fun?” she demanded, shaking the dust scornfully out of her skirts. “Well, what do you want to do then?” mumbled the little bear sullenly. “That’s the only game I know. Say, someone’s at the door! Listen!” Someone certainly was. First, the bell rang long and clangingly. Then came such a series of thumps, kicks and slams that all the cross stitched mottoes fell sideways. [Illustration] “Oh!” shrilled the Patchwork Girl, flinging up her arms joyously, “I know. Ozma has sent someone to rescue me. Come on Grumpy, we’ll let them in.” “How do you know it’s rescuers?” shivered the little bear anxiously. “They sound like robbers to me!” “Get out!” cried Scraps, running over to the door. “We can’t get out,” Grumpy reminded her patiently, “for we’re locked in good and tight.” “That’s so,” sighed the Patchwork Girl, pressing her cotton nose to the window bars. “They’ll have to break down the door.”