But my name is Scraps--and now
you know all about me."
"Not quite all," returned Dorothy with a smile.
"I wish you'd tell me how you came to be alive."
"That's an easy job," said Scraps, sitting upon
a big upholstered chair and making the springs
bounce her up and down. "Margolotte wanted a
slave, so she made me out of an old bed-quilt she
didn't use. Cotton stuffing, suspender-button
eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for teeth.
The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life,
sprinkled me with it and--here I am. Perhaps
you've noticed my different colors. A very refined
and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I
met, told me I am the most beautiful creature in
all Oz, and I believe it."
"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?" asked
Dorothy, a little puzzled to understand the brief
history related.
"Yes; isn't he jolly?"
"The Scarecrow has many good qualities," replied
Dorothy. "But I'm sorry to hear all this 'bout the
Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as hops when she
hears he's been doing magic again. She told him
not to."
"He only practices magic for the benefit of his
own family," explained Bungle, who was keeping at
a respectful distance from the little black dog.
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