At each command, Kaliko bowed meekly, and as Ruggedo picked up the ruby scepter lying on the arm of the throne, he ducked and ran out the door, for Ruggedo, as a mere matter of habit, had flung the scepter after him. “A blockhead!” sniffed Ruggedo contemptuously, “but didn’t I manage him well?” “He’s not very brave,” admitted Peter, sitting on the edge of the crystal rocking chair, “but how are you going to get along without any magic? Suppose the gnomes don’t want you back again?” “One thing at a time! One thing at a time!” beamed Ruggedo, in such a fine humor at his unexpected turn of luck, he felt almost pleasant. “Let’s not worry till we have to, General.” Peter couldn’t help smiling at his new title and, surveying himself in the long mirror, wondered how he would look in a gnome uniform. But at this juncture they were interrupted by the entrance of the Royal Wizard. He looked frightened and anxious, and Peter could see from his manner that the old Gnome King was no great favorite with his former subjects. “Well, Potaroo!” grinned Ruggedo, taking up the pipe Kaliko had been smoking, “what have you been inventing in my absence?” “Flying dishes,” croaked the magician, looking curiously at Peter. “They do away with extra servants, fly backward and forward with the food and wash and dry themselves as well.” “Very good!” puffed Ruggedo, complacently. “Well, here’s another little job for you.” Drawing out the cloak, he handed it down to the wizened old gnome. “Just mend this,” ordered Ruggedo carelessly, “and have it back by three o’clock.” Spreading the cloak across his knees, Potaroo examined it carefully all over. Then backing away from the throne he shook his head. [Illustration] “That, your Majesty, is impossible,” he muttered uneasily. “This cloak cannot be mended by gnome magic.” “No magic at all?” gasped Peter, disappointed beyond words, while Ruggedo glared angrily. “I command you to mend it!” screamed the hot-tempered little King, looking angrily around for something to throw at the wizard. “That makes no difference,” quavered Potaroo, backing still farther. “This cloak cannot be mended properly anywhere but in the Kingdom of Patch.” “And where is Patch?” demanded Ruggedo, emitting a perfect cloud of pipe smoke. “In the Winkie Country of Oz, just below the Kingdom of Ann of Oogaboo,” exclaimed Potaroo, looking longingly over his shoulder at the door. “Very well,” snapped Ruggedo disagreeably, “you may go, but next time your magic fails to work you’ll be turned to a door mat. A door mat, do you understand? Hah! Hah! A door mat to stand under my feet. See!” Ruggedo laughed wickedly, and the poor wizard, mumbling his sorrow, rushed from the throne room. “Rubyation!” blustered Ruggedo, as the door closed on Potaroo. “Now we’ll have to go to Patch.” “Well, isn’t that on the way to the Emerald City?” inquired Peter, very much amused by all that had happened.