“Hurry! Hurry!” cried Scraps. Tearing the work basket from her head she threw it into a corner and flung the crown jewels of Patch after it. “I abdicate!” chuckled the Patchwork Girl, turning expectantly toward the door. “Now then,” breathed Peter, “let’s all stand together and run like sixty.” “If we stand, how can we run?” mumbled Grumpy, but no one answered the little bear, for at that instant the key turned in the lock, the door opened and in swept the arm of Kuma, a stout club grasped in its hand. Motioning for them to follow, it whizzed down the hallway. Scrapper, running in from the garden to see what was happening, received a smart blow on the head. Piecer, panting up the steps from the kitchen, was picked up bodily and dropped out of the window. [Illustration] Through the castle door, down the steps and out of the garden rushed the three adventurers. As they started down the road, a crowd of Quilty men, on their way to the palace with a fresh load of patches, stared at them in astonishment. Then, suddenly realizing that the Queen was escaping, they rushed after her with yells and shouts of disapproval. But the arm of Kuma laid about with the club, seeming to be everywhere at once, and with groans and screams the Quilties fell back. Only three of the bolder ones continued the chase. Over the most persistent of their pursuers Peter flung the Nap Sack and, as he fell snoring by the roadside, Grumpy sent the second flying into a ditch. Kuma’s club soon disposed of the third and without further interruption they pelted down the crossroads of Patch. Always Kuma’s hand flashed on ahead, making the way easy, taking down fence bars, opening gates, thrusting aside the branches of trees. Many of the Quilties saw them from the cottage windows, but before they could get down to their doors the strange procession had passed by. Scraps, being magically made and stuffed with cotton, did not tire, but Grumpy and Peter were soon panting with exhaustion. There was a remedy for even this, however. Throwing down the club, Kuma’s arm jerked first one and then the other into the air, carrying them by turns to the very edge of the little Kingdom. In a small maple grove, several miles from Patch, they stopped to rest. Peter still had hold of Kuma’s hand and would have liked to keep it longer, but gently disengaging itself, it patted him kindly on the shoulder, shook hands with Scraps and was gone. This time it left no note and regretfully they watched it soar over the tree tops and disappear from view. “Well,” gasped Peter, leaning back against a tree, “we’re out of Patch and where do we go now, Scraps?” “South by east, and if I’m right, We’ll reach the capital to-night!” answered the Patchwork Girl cheerfully. “Oh, I hope we do,” puffed Peter, taking a long breath. “Come on, let’s start, I’m rested.”