“I wish Cross Patch had never gone to pieces,” moaned Piecer dismally. “I don’t care who’s Imperial Potentate. I wish someone else had my position. I wish--” “There’s a sign,” interrupted Scrapper. “Look! It says ‘Emerald City, thirty-five miles’.” “Emerald City!” panted Piecer, forgetting his weariness for a moment. “Why, that’s the capital of Oz. Patches and pincushions! Why, I never expected to see the Emerald City! Maybe our next Queen’s in the capital, old fellow!” “Well, then she ought to make a capital Queen,” sighed Scrapper, leaning over to untwine a bramble from his left shin, “but who wants to walk thirty-five miles?” As he straightened up, the gold spool whirled between two tall trees and came to a complete standstill on a short foot-path. A rustic railing ran along the edge of the path and, taking hold of the railing, Scrapper began looking anxiously around for the future ruler of Patch. “Do you see anything?” he queried, looking over his shoulder. “No, but I feel something,” grunted Piecer, peering anxiously down at his feet. “Beeswax and basting threads!” Next instant both Quilties leapt into the air. Then, taking a firmer hold upon the railing and on each other, they clung desperately together, for the foot-path, rising up on its hundred broad feet, was rushing like the wind through the gloomy forest. “Are--we--going--to--pieces?” shouted the Prime Piecer, not daring to open his eyes. [Illustration] Cautiously Scrapper opened one eye and the first thing that met his gaze was a neat notice tacked on the rustic railing. It was only a blur, so fast were they travelling, but opening the other eye he managed to decipher it. “This foot-path runs straight to the Emerald City. Hold tight. No stamping or kicking allowed. “Private Property of the Wizard of Oz.” [Illustration] “Well, hurrah!” exclaimed Scrapper, thumping his companion on the chest. “We’re not going to pieces, we’re going to the Emerald City! Going! Going! Why, here we are!” And they were too. Right at the gates of the loveliest city in Oz. The foot-path, having accomplished its journey in less than a minute, now tilted its passengers rudely off and, coiling up like a serpent, went to sleep under a lime drop tree. Too overcome to do anything but blink at the gleaming spires and turrets of the capital, the two simple Quilties stood stunned and still. But a business-like tug from the gold thread brought them out of their trance. The Spool of Succession had slid off the path with them and was now rolling gaily through the gates of the city. Holding fast to one another, and scarcely daring to breathe, the fat little ministers of Patch went tiptoeing after the golden spool. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER 2 The New Queen Of the Quilties