The bushes, however, went gaily on with their dance, but when they had circled around the travellers at least a hundred times, they seemed to tire of the sport and all of them skipped off together. “This makes me cross,” growled Grumpy, scowling terribly. “Well, it makes me cross-eyed,” acknowledged Scraps, starting forward uncertainly. “Look out for that tree, Peter, it’s going to trip you if it can. I’ll tell you, let’s shut our eyes and run!” Trying to walk straight ahead with trees, rocks and bushes jumping about like colts was certainly a problem and, closing their eyes, they did begin to run. But a young tree, dropping across their path, soon put a stop to that and they all fell sprawling together. Rubbing his knees, Peter sat up. “Wish we had Kuma’s hand to guide us through this place,” muttered the little boy, brushing his hand wearily across his forehead. “What we need is blinkers,” sniffed Grumpy. “Hello, I see something that hasn’t moved for a whole minute.” “Where?” Peter and Scraps spoke in the same breath. Swallowing hard, Grumpy waved his paw toward a great feathery bush, with three main branches. Without a word they kept their eyes fixed upon it for several minutes. Then Peter, jumping up determinedly and giving no heed to the skipping stones and slipping sands, ran straight for the bush. As fast as they could, Grumpy and the Patchwork Girl followed him. It was quite a distance and Scraps was tripped up several times on the way, but at last they stood before the only stationary object in that whole whirling wilderness. “Feathers!” gasped Peter, pushing back his cap. “And it’s alive,” cautioned Grumpy, moving back a few steps. “See, it has feet.” “It looks like--it may be--why, it _is_!” Rushing forward, Scraps tapped the strange creature smartly on the leg. Peter had supposed it had three legs and no head, but at the Patchwork Girl’s tap, a head burst through the sandy soil and, rearing its long neck, an Oztrich looked at them inquiringly. Now an Oztrich, I don’t mind telling you, is quite like an ostrich, except that it has green feathers and blue eyes. “Well?” hissed the oztrich, looking sadly from one to the other. “Where do you think you’re going?” “That’s what we want to know,” cried Scraps, for Peter was too surprised to speak. “Where are we going, how do we get there and what is your name?” “My name is Ozwold,” answered the great bird gently. “How do you feel?” “Dizzy!” groaned Grumpy weakly. “Bewildered,” sighed Scraps, jumping aside to let three rocks roll by. “I thought so.” The Oztrich shook its head in a satisfied manner. “This is a Bewilderness, you know. Bury your heads like I do,” he advised calmly. [Illustration] “But we want to go to the Emerald City,” put in Peter, “and if we bury our heads we’d smother. Couldn’t you carry us to the Emerald City on your back?” he asked daringly.