u?" inquired the Tin Woodman.

"Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart," said the Patchwork
Girl. "But I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle
whom he loves, and I'd kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him to
do that."

The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.

"You have kind instincts," he said, "and with a heart you would indeed
be a fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you
cannot understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for
instance, have a very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful
Wizard of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never--never--_never_ permit a
poor yellow butterfly to be tortured by anyone."

"The yellow country of the Winkies," said Ojo sadly, "is the only place
in Oz where a yellow butterfly can be found."

"I'm glad of that," said the Tin Woodman. "As I rule the Winkie Country,
I can protect my butterflies."

"Unless I get the wing--just one left wing--" said Ojo miserably, "I
can't save Unc Nunkie."

"Then he must remain a marble statue forever," declared the Tin Emperor,
firmly.

Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back the tears.

"I'll tell you what to do," said Scraps. "We'll take a whole yellow
butterfly, alive and well, to the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the
left wing off."

"No you won't," said the Tin Woodman. "You can't have one of my dear
little butterflies to treat in that way."

"Then what in the world shall we do?" asked Dorothy.

They all became silent and thoughtful. No one spoke for a long time.
Then the Tin Woodman suddenly roused himself and said:

"We must all go back to the Emerald City and ask Ozma's advice. She's a
wise little girl, our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo save his
Unc Nunkie."

So the following morning the party started on the journey to the Emerald
City, which they reached in due time without any important adventure. It
was a sad journey for Ojo, for without the wing of the yellow butterfly
he saw no way to save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited six years for the
Crooked Magician to make a new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was
utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he groaned aloud.

"Is anything hurting you?" inquired the Tin Woodman in a kindly tone,
for the Emperor was with the party.

"I'm Ojo the Unlucky," replied the boy. "I might have known I would fail
in anything I tried to do."

"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?" asked the tin man.

"