"I wonder when Dorothy will return?" sighed the little Queen, pushing back her chair and signalling for the thirty-ninth footman to remove the gold breakfast plates. Dorothy had gone on a short visit to Perhaps City and already the others were longing for her return. "Let's ask the Scarecrow," proposed Betsy, waving to the jolly straw man who, arm-in-arm with Sir Hokus of Pokes, was coming down the path. Both these delightful fellows are great friends of Dorothy's. In fact she discovered them. The Scarecrow she had lifted down from a pole on her very first trip to Oz. He had accompanied her to the Emerald City and been given a splendid set of brains by the Wizard of Oz, so that he is one of the wittiest and most able of Ozma's courtiers. He has a cozy corn-ear castle in the Winkie Country, but prefers to spend most of his time in the capital with the girls. Sir Hokus had been rescued from Pokes by Dorothy on another of her wonderful adventures, and since the Knight had taken up his residence in the palace Ozma felt more secure than ever before, for Sir Hokus was a splendid swordsman and feared neither man nor monster. It is people like Scraps, Sir Hokus and the Scarecrow who make life in the Emerald City so jolly and so different. "Yoo hoo! Don't you think it's time Dorothy was back?" called Betsy, as the two came nearer. "High time! High time!" answered the Scarecrow, waving his old blue hat up at the clock in the tallest tower of the castle. "And we'll have a high time when she does come," he smiled gaily. "I've thought up a dozen new games and--. What's that?" cried the Scarecrow, interrupting himself suddenly and blinking his painted eyes so fast that Betsy bounded out of her chair. "What's that?" echoed the little Queen of Oz, springing up in alarm. Something gold and brilliant had flashed through the air and fallen upon the walk. "A feather!" puffed Sir Hokus. "Odds goblins and hoblins, a feather!" He stooped creakily to pick it up, but as he did the golden quill righted itself and began to move rapidly across the marble walk. "It's writing!" gasped Trot, clutching the Scarecrow by the arm, and in dazed fascination they watched the feather tracing a sentence. When it had set down five words, it made a little gold dot and fell lifelessly at Ozma's feet. "Danger! Go to Morrow to-day!" stuttered the Scarecrow, reading the golden message aloud. "How now," thundered Sir Hokus, letting his visor fall with a crash, "what means this message?" "Go to-_morrow_!" gulped the Scarecrow, clapping on his hat and squinting down at the golden legend on the walk. "Not to-morrow, to-day," corrected Betsy Bobbin breathlessly. "But if we go to-day, how can we go to-morrow?" asked Ozma, growing more bewildered every minute. "Danger!" shuddered Trot, pointing a trembling finger at the first word.