“Is my child broken?” asked the oztrich, opening the other eye and peering wildly in every direction. Fortunately the egg had fallen on a heap of soft sand and while Ozwold hurried over to assure himself it was not cracked, Scraps and Peter ran to help the stranger. “Are you broken, stunned or killed, Wrecked or sprained or simply spilled?” quavered the Patchwork Girl, leaning over him. “It’s all right,” sighed the stranger, sitting up slowly. “I’m used to being slammed. Just so my back’s not broken, I don’t care!” “Why, it’s a book!” burst out Peter, coming closer to make sure. “Not a book, a bookman!” corrected the traveller, rising with Scrap’s help to his feet. “Books are old fashioned, but a bookman is right up to date. I don’t wait to be advertised, I speak for myself, I don’t lie around waiting to be read, I run after people and make them read me. I can carry myself and turn over a new leaf every day in the year. I’m very interesting!” finished the bookman, with a wide smile at Peter. Peter smiled back and how could he help it? Above his big book body the fellow had a round jolly face with floppy dog ears. His legs and arms were quite thin and he was about as tall as Scraps. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” asked the little boy, as the bookman began to run briskly up and down thumping the covers of his book body to knock out the dust. “What are you about?” asked Grumpy, looking curiously at the traveller and still rubbing his head with his paw. “Have you any animal tales?” “Or verse?” cried the Patchwork Girl eagerly. “Or baseball stories?” questioned Peter, coming closer and closer. In their interest they had almost forgotten the oztrich. [Illustration] “I’ve all kinds of stories,” boasted the bookman and, unclasping his middle, spread wide the pages of his book. “Which will you have first?” “A bear story,” said Grumpy, sitting down on his haunches and waving both paws. “Bear stories are the most exciting!” “No, a verse,” shrilled the Patchwork Girl quickly. Peter was about to call for a baseball story when he suddenly remembered his manners. “Ladies first,” said Peter, looking reprovingly at the little bear. “Just show us one of your verses,” he remarked carelessly. “Funny or sad?” asked the bookman, running his finger down his table of contents. “Funny, of course,” chuckled Scraps, tossing her head impatiently. Turning his pages rapidly the bookman stepped off a few paces and, leaning forward, the three travellers read: “Do fishes use the liquid tones The world so highly praises? Could they speak dryly, and do bees Converse in honeyed phrases?” “Ho! Ho!” laughed Peter merrily, “if they do they’d soon get stuck. That’s a good one--almost as good as your verses, Scraps.” “There’s a much funnier one on page seventy-six,” said the bookman gaily. “Wait!” “What for?” Coming up behind them, Ozwold looked severely at their new friend. “What are we waiting for?” he repeated sternly.