enough. In my official positions I've had nothing
to do for a good many years--so long that I began to fear I was
absolutely useless--until to-day. An hour ago I was called to the
presence of her Highness, Ozma of Oz, and told to arrest a boy named Ojo
the Unlucky, who was journeying from the Munchkin Country to the Emerald
City and would arrive in a short time. This command so astonished me
that I nearly fainted, for it is the first time anyone has merited
arrest since I can remember. You are rightly named Ojo the Unlucky, my
poor boy, since you have broken a Law of Oz."

"But you are wrong," said Scraps. "Ozma is wrong--you are all wrong--for
Ojo has broken no Law."

[Illustration]

"Then he will soon be free again," replied the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers. "Anyone accused of crime is given a fair trial by our Ruler
and has every chance to prove his innocence. But just now Ozma's orders
must be obeyed."

With this he took from his pocket a pair of handcuffs made of gold and
set with rubies and diamonds, and these he snapped over Ojo's wrists.

[Illustration]

OZMA'S PRISONER

CHAP. 15

[Illustration]

The boy was so bewildered by this calamity that he made no resistance at
all. He knew very well he was guilty, but it surprised him that Ozma
also knew it. He wondered how she had found out so soon that he had
picked the six-leaved clover. He handed his basket to Scraps and said:

"Keep that, until I get out of prison. If I never get out, take it to
the Crooked Magician, to whom it belongs."

The Shaggy Man had been gazing earnestly in the boy's face, uncertain
whether to defend him or not; but something he read in Ojo's expression
made him draw back and refuse to interfere to save him. The Shaggy Man
was greatly surprised and grieved, but he knew that Ozma never made
mistakes and so Ojo must really have broken the Law of Oz.

The Soldier with the Green Whiskers now led them all through the gate
and into a little room built in the wall. Here sat a jolly little man,
richly dressed in green and having around his neck a heavy gold chain to
which a number of great golden keys were attached. This was the Guardian
of the Gate and at the moment they entered his room he was playing a
tune upon a mouth-organ.

"Listen!" he said, holding up his hand for silence. "I've just composed
a tune called 'The Speckled Alligator.' It's in patch-time, which is
much superior to rag-time, and I've composed it in ho