to get,
and I have found four of them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a
Woozy's tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water from a dark well and
a drop of oil from a live man's body. The last thing is the easiest of
all to get, and I'm sure that my dear Unc Nunkie--and good Margolotte,
as well--will soon be restored to life."

The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and pleasure.

"Good!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman; "I congratulate you. But what is the
fifth and last thing you need, in order to complete the magic charm?"

"The left wing of a yellow butterfly," said Ojo. "In this yellow
country, and with your kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to
find."

The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.

"Surely you are joking!" he said.

"No," replied Ojo, much surprised; "I am in earnest."

"But do you think for a moment that I would permit you, or anyone else,
to pull the left wing from a yellow butterfly?" demanded the Tin
Woodman sternly.

"Why not, sir?"

"Why not? You ask me why not? It would be cruel--one of the most cruel
and heartless deeds I ever heard of," asserted the Tin Woodman. "The
butterflies are among the prettiest of all created things, and they are
very sensitive to pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it
exquisite torture and it would soon die in great agony. I would not
permit such a wicked deed under any circumstances!"

Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too, looked grave and
disconcerted, but she knew in her heart that the Tin Woodman was right.
The Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his friend's speech, so it
was evident that he agreed with the Emperor's decision. Scraps looked
from one to another in perplexity.

"Who cares for a butterfly?" she asked.

"Don't you?" inquired the Tin Woodman.

"Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart," said the Patchwork
Girl. "But I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle
whom he loves, and I'd kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him
to do that."

The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.

"You have kind instincts," he said, "and with a heart you would indeed
be a fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as
you cannot understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for
instance, have a very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful
Wizard of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never--never--never permit a
poor yellow butterfly to be tortured by anyone."

"The