etween
green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to a little girl
who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies.

While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights,
she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had
ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been
used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about
as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although
they were, so far as looks go, many years older.

Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore
round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with
little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The
hats of the men were blue; the little woman's hat was white, and she
wore a white gown that hung in pleats from her shoulders. Over it were
sprinkled little stars that glistened in the sun like diamonds. The
men were dressed in blue, of the same shade as their hats, and wore
well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops. The men,
Dorothy thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them had
beards. But the little woman was doubtless much older. Her face was
covered with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather
stiffly.

When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in the
doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid to
come farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made a
low bow and said, in a sweet voice:

"You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins.
We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the
East, and for setting our people free from bondage."

Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little
woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she had
killed the Wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent, harmless
little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone many miles from home;
and she had never killed anything in all her life.

But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy said,
with hesitation, "You are very kind, but there must be some mistake. I
have not killed anything."

"Your house did, anyway," replied the little old woman, with a laugh,
"and that is the same thing. See!" she continued, pointing to the
corner of the house. "There are her two feet, still sticking out from
un