travel to
Mount Munch."

"If that's the programme, let us start at once," suggested Woot.

So they all went outside, where they found Polychrome dancing about
among the trees and talking with the birds and laughing as merrily as
if she had not lost her Rainbow and so been separated from all her
fairy sisters.

They told her they were going to Mount Munch, and she replied:

"Very well; I am as likely to find my Rainbow there as here, and any
other place is as likely as there. It all depends on the weather. Do
you think it looks like rain?"

They shook their heads, and Polychrome laughed again and danced on
after them when they resumed their journey.

Chapter Nineteen

The Invisible Country

They were proceeding so easily and comfortably on their way to Mount
Munch that Woot said in a serious tone of voice:

"I'm afraid something is going to happen."

"Why?" asked Polychrome, dancing around the group of travelers.

"Because," said the boy, thoughtfully, "I've noticed that when we have
the least reason for getting into trouble, something is sure to go
wrong. Just now the weather is delightful; the grass is beautifully
blue and quite soft to our feet; the mountain we are seeking shows
clearly in the distance and there is no reason anything should happen
to delay us in getting there. Our troubles all seem to be over,
and--well, that's why I'm afraid," he added, with a sigh.

"Dear me!" remarked the Scarecrow, "what unhappy thoughts you have, to
be sure. This is proof that born brains cannot equal manufactured
brains, for my brains dwell only on facts and never borrow trouble.
When there is occasion for my brains to think, they think, but I would
be ashamed of my brains if they kept shooting out thoughts that were
merely fears and imaginings, such as do no good, but are likely to do
harm."

"For my part," said the Tin Woodman, "I do not think at all, but allow
my velvet heart to guide me at all times."

"The tinsmith filled my hollow head with scraps and clippings of tin,"
said the Soldier, "and he told me they would do nicely for brains, but
when I begin to think, the tin scraps rattle around and get so mixed
that I'm soon bewildered. So I try not to think. My tin heart is almost
as useless to me, for it is hard and cold, so I'm sure the red velvet
heart of my friend Nick Chopper is a better guide."

"Thoughtless people are not unusual," observed the Scarecrow, "but I
consider them more fortunate