Snip, on his part, clutching desperately at the rough stones to save himself, caught instead a handful of goose feathers and went plunging down into the dreadful darkness. Down, down, down he fell, like a lump of lead, to the very bottom. With eyes shut tight and clenched fists, Snip waited for the terrible bump that should end his fall. But instead of a bump, there was a soft thud and bounce and he found himself wedged fast in a padded bucket. The jar set the bucket in motion and for a moment Snip thought it was going to shoot up to the top again. Instead it began to move sideways, for opening out from the bottom of the well was a long, damp passageway, and the bucket swinging on a heavy cable shot rapidly along through this underground tunnel. It was too dark for Snip to see but, stretching his arms carefully, he felt the walls above and at the side. Clearly the old witch had meant to destroy him, so she could work out her wicked plans undisturbed. "But maybe," whispered poor Snip, crouching low to keep from bumping his head, "maybe I can get out after all and manage to reach the Emerald City first and warn Ozma of Mombi's treachery. Then surely Ozma will help me find Pajuka and she, herself, can hunt for the lost King." It was a long and terrible ride, and many times Snip's heart thumped so loudly that it drowned out the creak of the straining cable. Where under the earth was he going? Would the flying bucket never stop? Just as he was losing his courage entirely, Snip saw a star. The bucket had come to the end of the tunnel and was shooting up another well as swiftly as Snip had fallen down the first one. Almost as soon as he made this joyful discovery, the bucket reached the top, spilled him carelessly over the edge and dropped back with a hollow ring to the bottom. For several minutes Snip lay where he had fallen, too shaken and breathless to care where he was. Then, rolling over, he looked anxiously around. In the faint starlight, not much was visible. He seemed to be in a small orchard and just beyond the trees he could see the dim outlines of a strange city. Satisfying himself that no immediate danger threatened and too weary to go another step, the worn-out little adventurer flung himself down beside the well and was soon fast asleep. It was morning and nearly nine o'clock when he was awakened by the sound of hurrying foot-steps and shrill cries. "He has freckles," screamed the first voice. "His nose turns up," shouted the second. "Who threw him in our well?" demanded a third fretfully. "Is he welcome or is he not?" "Not!" boomed the voices altogether.