“This is the man you ran over,” explained Peter quickly, “and he’s letting us read his book.” “And you stand here reading with the whole Kingdom in danger?” hissed the oztrich, thrusting his long neck forward angrily. “A nice way to save the Queen, I must say.” “I’ve a chapter on saving, somewhere, but I’m afraid it’s on saving money,” mumbled the bookman, thumbing his pages over hurriedly. Peter and Scraps looked rather crest-fallen and, while they walked slowly toward the oztrich, he again addressed the bookman. “If you know so much, perhaps you can tell us the way to the Emerald City,” he wheezed disagreeably. “I’m not a guide book,” answered the bookman stiffly. “Then shut up,” advised the oztrich so sharply that without intending to at all the bookman did shut up. “Are you coming, or do I have to save the Kingdom myself?” asked the oztrich, turning impatiently to Peter. “I’ll come, too, and entertain you as you go along. Read as you run,” said the bookman brightly. “Not as I run,” sniffed Ozwold, who seemed determined to snub this new acquaintance. “Better keep out of my way or you’ll be run over again.” “I’m afraid you will,” sighed Peter, patting the bookman kindly on the back, for he seemed quite crushed by Ozwold’s rude speeches. Scraps had already mounted the oztrich and now, leaning far out to the side, shook hands with the bookman, singing: “Bookman! Bookman, don’t you care, We’ll see you some day somewhere, Come to the Emerald City, do And then I’ll read you through and through!” “So will I,” promised Grumpy earnestly. “You’ll find us in the palace. Just ask for the Queen of the Quilties and her pet,” finished the little bear grandly. “There won’t be any palace if you stand here much longer,” fumed the oztrich, kicking up the dust angrily. “_Come on!_” Realizing that there was some truth in the oztrich’s remarks, Peter picked up the huge egg and climbed aboard. Grumpy, growling under his breath, took his seat behind Peter. “This is no time for improving literature,” hissed the oztrich, starting off at a two legged trot. Peter did not bother to answer, but waved his cap cheerily to the bookman, who still stood uncertainly in the middle of the road. He kept on waving till the bookman became a mere speck in the distance, then, turning about, devoted all his attention to holding on. For nearly an hour Ozwold pelted down the endless road. Then suddenly Scraps clutched him excitedly about the neck. “Stop!” shouted the Patchwork Girl. “Stop! Stop!” “What’s the matter?” coughed the oztrich, slackening his speed a trifle. “Turn out between those pear trees quick, I see the road of yellow brick,” cried Scraps, waving one arm joyfully over her head. “Where does that take us?” inquired Peter, leaning curiously over Scraps’ shoulder. “To the Emerald City’s golden gate; Home! Home at last, I can hardly wait!”