their journey.

"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn't
have seen the stars, nor the big gray wolf."

"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.

"The one that came to the door of the house three times during the
night."

"I don't see why that should be," said the boy, thoughtfully; "there was
plenty to eat in that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I slept in
a nice bed."

"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork Girl, noticing that the boy
yawned.

"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well."

"And aren't you hungry?"

"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good breakfast, and yet I think
I'll now eat some of my crackers and cheese."

Scraps danced up and down the path. Then she sang:

"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;
The wolf is at the door,
There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,
And a bill from the grocery store."

"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.

"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what comes into my head, but of
course I know nothing of a grocery store or bones without meat or--very
much else."

"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring, raving crazy, and her brains
can't be pink, for they don't work properly."

"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares for 'em, anyhow? Have you
noticed how beautiful my patches are in this sunlight?"

Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps pattering along the path
behind them and all three turned to see what was coming. To their
astonishment they beheld a small round table running as fast as its four
spindle legs could carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a
phonograph with a big gold horn.

[Illustration]

"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for me!"

"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the Crooked Magician scattered
the Powder of Life over," said Ojo.

"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of voice; and then, as the
phonograph overtook them, the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are you
doing here, anyhow?"

"I've run away," said the music thing. "After you left, old Dr. Pipt and
I had a dreadful quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if I
didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that, because a
talking-machine is supposed to talk and make a noise--and sometimes
music. So I slipped out of the house while the Magician was stirring his
four kettles and I've been running after you all night. Now that I've
found such pleasant company, I can talk