Its saddle was made of
cloth-of-gold richly encrusted with precious gems.
It had never worn a bridle.
As the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of
travelers, he reined in his wooden steed and
dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling
nod. Then he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl
in wonder, while she in turn stared at him.
"Shags," he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man
aside, "pat me into shape, there's a good fellow!"
While his friend punched and patted the
Scarecrow's body, to smooth out the humps, Scraps
turned to Ojo and whispered: "Roll me out, please;
I've sagged down dreadfully from walking so much
and men like to see a stately figure."
She then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled
her back and forth like a rolling-pin, until the
cotton had filled all the spaces in her patchwork
covering and the body had lengthened to its
fullest extent. Scraps and the Scarecrow both
finished their hasty toilets at the same time, and
again they faced each other.
"Allow me, Miss Patchwork," said the Shaggy Man,
"to present my friend, the Right Royal Scarecrow
of Oz. Scarecrow, this is Miss Scraps Patches;
Scraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow--Scraps;
Scraps--Scarecrow.
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