carecrow, this is Miss Scraps
Patches; Scraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow--Scraps;
Scraps--Scarecrow."

They both bowed with much dignity.

"Forgive me for staring so rudely," said the Scarecrow, "but you are
the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld."

"That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,"
murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her
head. "But, tell me, good sir, are you not a trifle lumpy?"

"Yes, of course; that's my straw, you know. It bunches up, sometimes,
in spite of all my efforts to keep it even. Doesn't your straw ever
bunch?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed with cotton," said Scraps. "It never bunches, but it's
inclined to pack down and make me sag."

"But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say it is even more
stylish, not to say aristocratic, than straw," said the Scarecrow
politely. "Still, it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely
should have the best stuffing there is going. I--er--I'm so glad I've
met you, Miss Scraps! Introduce us again, Shaggy."

"Once is enough," replied the Shaggy Man, laughing at his friend's
enthusiasm.

"Then tell me where you found her, and--Dear me, what a queer cat! What
are you made of--gelatine?"

"Pure glass," answered the cat, proud to have attracted the Scarecrow's
attention. "I am much more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I'm
transparent, and Scraps isn't; I've pink brains--you can see 'em work;
and I've a ruby heart, finely polished, while Scraps hasn't any heart
at all."

"No more have I," said the Scarecrow, shaking hands with Scraps, as if
to congratulate her on the fact. "I've a friend, the Tin Woodman, who
has a heart, but I find I get along pretty well without one. And
so--Well, well! here's a little Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my
little man. How are you?"

Ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove that served the
Scarecrow for a hand, and the Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that
the straw in his glove crackled.

Meantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse and begun to sniff at
it. The Sawhorse resented this familiarity and with a sudden kick
pounded the Woozy squarely on its head with one gold-shod foot.

"Take that, you monster!" it cried angrily.

The Woozy never even winked.

"To be sure," he said; "I'll take anything I have to. But don't make me
angry, you wooden beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you up."

The Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wicke