"And I must go, too," said Dorothy, reminded of her many responsibilities. So, giving the Tiger's ear an affectionate pull, she ran all the way back to the palace. In the throne room she found Ozma and Tik Tok in a quiet conference. "I've made Tik Tok Master of Ceremonies," said Ozma, looking up with a smile of welcome, "because he never forgets what he's wound up to remember." "And I'll be sure to keep him wound up," promised Dorothy, patting the machine man on his copper shoulder. Tik Tok was another of Dorothy's discoveries and had been manufactured by a magician to be a slave of the King of Ev, but here he was, thanks to Dorothy, enjoying a life of interest and ease in the capital. Tik Tok could talk, think, and move about as well as anyone when he was wound, and was much more reliable and tireless than a real person. "I am to an-nounce the vis-i-tors as they en-ter the pal-ace and per-son-a-al-ly con-duct them to their roy-al quar-ters," Tik Tok told Dorothy in his slow and precise manner. "Oz-ma can de-pend on me ab-so-lute-ly and ev-e-ry thing will go like clock-work." With two stiff bows and ticking with importance, the metal man marched proudly from the room. "Like clock-work. Ha, ha! did you hear that, and why not with a clock-work man in charge? Oh, Ozma, doesn't it all look grand and gorgeous?" Clasping the little Queen around her slender waist, Dorothy gazed around the beautiful throne room. Every window and doorway was garlanded with flowers, while hundreds of palms, ferns, and fluttering silk pennants gave it an unwonted look of pomp and ceremony. "Let--me--see," mused Dorothy, straightening the folds of a white satin curtain. "I'm to stand on your right, Bettsy Bobbin and Trot on your left, and the Patchwork Girl is to hold your train at the grand reception. Do you think you can trust her, Ozma? She'll probably try to jump rope or wave it like a handkerchief." "Oh, Scraps is pretty good, considering her giddy make up," observed Ozma with a little smile, "and she would be so disappointed not to be with us. I'm sure I can trust her--at least for a little while." "Trust me? Trust me? You disgust me," shouted a merry voice and Scraps, who had been peeking through the curtains at the back of the room, took a long running slide, landing in an unladylike heap at the foot of the dais leading to the throne. Scraps, made from an old crazy quilt and stuffed with cotton, had been brought to life by a magician to serve his wife, but the Patch Work Girl had come to the Emerald City with Ojo and never returned to her creators, scorning the humble career of a maid servant. She was so gay and amusing Ozma had allowed her to remain at the palace. "Must I go in training to hold a train?" she demanded, springing to her feet and striking so comical an attitude both Dorothy and Ozma had to laugh. "Of course not," said Ozma kindly, "just be careful and do not do any gymnastics during the reception."