what was the matter, and cried
out in astonishment: "For goodness' sake!"

Then the three stood motionless, staring hard, until Polychrome's merry
laughter rang out behind them and aroused them from their stupor.

In the path before them stood a tin man who was the exact duplicate of
the Tin Woodman. He was of the same size, he was jointed in the same
manner, and he was made of shining tin from top to toe. But he stood
immovable, with his tin jaws half parted and his tin eyes turned
upward. In one of his hands was held a long, gleaming sword. Yes, there
was the difference, the only thing that distinguished him from the
Emperor of the Winkies. This tin man bore a sword, while the Tin
Woodman bore an axe.

"It's a dream; it must be a dream!" gasped Woot.

"That's it, of course," said the Scarecrow; "there couldn't be two Tin
Woodmen."

"No," agreed Polychrome, dancing nearer to the stranger, "this one is a
Tin Soldier. Don't you see his sword?"

The Tin Woodman cautiously put out one tin hand and felt of his
double's arm. Then he said in a voice that trembled with emotion:

"Who are you, friend?"

There was no reply

"Can't you see he's rusted, just as you were once?" asked Polychrome,
laughing again. "Here, Nick Chopper, lend me your oil-can a minute!"

The Tin Woodman silently handed her his oil-can, without which he never
traveled, and Polychrome first oiled the stranger's tin jaws and then
worked them gently to and fro until the Tin Soldier said:

"That's enough. Thank you. I can now talk. But please oil my other
joints."

Woot seized the oil-can and did this, but all the others helped wiggle
the soldier's joints as soon as they were oiled, until they moved
freely.

The Tin Soldier seemed highly pleased at his release. He strutted up
and down the path, saying in a high, thin voice:

"The Soldier is a splendid man
When marching on parade,
And when he meets the enemy
He never is afraid.

He rights the wrongs of nations,
His country's flag defends,
The foe he'll fight with great delight,
But seldom fights his friends."

Chapter Sixteen

Captain Fyter

"Are you really a soldier?" asked Woot, when they had all watched this
strange tin person parade up and down the path and proudly flourish his
sword.

"I was a soldier," was the reply, "but I've been a prisoner to Mr. Rust
so long that I don't know exactly what I am."

"But--dear me!" cried the Tin Woodman, sadl