When the boy opened his eyes next morning helooked carefully around the room. These smallMunchkin houses seldom had more than one room inthem. That in which Ojo now found himself hadthree beds, set all in a row on one side of it.The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was inthe second, and the third was neatly made up andsmoothed for the day. On the other side of theroom was a round table on which breakfast wasalready placed, smoking hot. Only one chair wasdrawn up to the table, where a place was set forone person. No one seemed to be in the room exceptthe boy and Bungle.

Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding atoilet stand at the head of his bed he washed hisface and hands and brushed his hair. Then hewent to the table and said:

"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"

"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, sonear that Ojo jumped; But no person could hesee.

He was hungry, and the breakfast lookedgood; so he sat down and ate all he wanted.Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened theGlass Cat.

"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go.

He cast another glance about the room and,speaking to the air, he said: "Whoever lives herehas been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."

There was no answer, so he took his basketand went out the door, the cat following him.In the middle of the path sat the PatchworkGirl, playing with pebbles she had picked up.

"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully."I thought you were never coming out. It has beendaylight a long time."

"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.

"Sat here and watched the stars and themoon," she replied. "They're interesting. I neversaw them before, you know."

"Of course not," said Ojo.

"You were crazy to act so badly and getthrown outdoors," remarked Bungle, as theyrenewed their journey.

"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn'tbeen thrown out I wouldn't have seen the stars,nor the big gray wolf."

"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.

"The one that came to the door of the housethree times during the night."

"I don't see why that should be," said theboy, thoughtfully; "there was plenty to eat inthat house, for I had a fine breakfast, and Islept in a nice bed."

"Don't you feel tired?" asked the PatchworkGirl, noticing that the boy yawned.

"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night;and yet I slept very well."

"And aren't you hungry?"

"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a goodbreakfast, and yet I think I'll now eat some ofmy crackers and cheese."

Scraps danced up and down the path. Thenshe sang:

"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;The wolf is at the door,There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,And a bill from the grocery store."

"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.

"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say whatcomes into my head, but of course I know nothingof a grocery store or bones without meat orvery much else."

"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring,raving crazy, and her brains can't be pink, forthey don't work properly."

"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who caresfor 'em, anyhow? Have you noticed how beautiful mypatches are in this sunlight?"

Just then they heard a sound as of footstepspattering along the path behind them and all threeturned to see what was coming. To theirastonishment they beheld a small round tablerunning as fast as its four spindle legs couldcarry it, and to the top was screwed fast aphonograph with a big gold horn.

"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait forme!"

"Goodness me; it's that music thing which theCrooked Magician scattered the Powder of Lifeover," said Ojo.

"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone ofvoice; and then, as the phonograph overtook them,the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are you doinghere, anyhow?"

"I've run away," said the music thing. "Afteryou left, old Dr. Pipt and I had a dreadfulquarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces ifI didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that,because a talking-machine is supposed to talk andmake a noise--and sometimes music. So I slipped outof the house while the Magician was stirring hisfour kettles and I've been running after you allnight. Now that I've found such pleasant company,I can talk and play tunes all I want to."

Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcomeaddition to their party. At first he did not knowwhat to say to the newcomer, but a little thoughtdecided him not to make friends.

"We are traveling on important business," hedeclared, "and you'll excuse me if I say we can'tbe bothered."

"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.

"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'llhave to go somewhere else."

"This is very unkind treatment, I must say,whined the phonograph, in an injured tone."Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intendedto amuse people."

"It isn't you we hate, especially," observedthe Glass Cat; "it's your dreadful music. WhenI lived in the same room with you I was muchannoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls andgrumbles and clicks and scratches so it spoilsthe music, and your machinery rumbles so thatthe racket drowns every tune you attempt."

"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of myrecords. I must admit that I haven't a clearrecord," answered the machine.

"Just the same, you'll have to go away," saidOjo.

"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This musicthing interests me. I remember to have heardmusic when I first came to life, and I would liketo hear it again. What is your name, my poorabused phonograph?"

"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.

"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," saidthe Patchwork Girl. "Go ahead and play something."

"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.

"I'm crazy now, according to your statement.Loosen up and reel out the music, Vic."

"The only record I have with me," explainedthe phonograph, "is one the Magician attachedjust before we had our quarrel. It's a highlyclassical composition."

"A what?" inquired Scraps.

"It is classical music, and is considered thebest and most puzzling ever manufactured.You're supposed to like it, whether you do ornot, and if you don't, the proper thing is to lookas if you did. Understand?"

"Not in the least," said Scraps.

"Then, listen!"

At once the machine began to play and in afew minutes Ojo put his hands to his ears toshut out the sounds and the cat snarled andScraps began to Jaugh.

"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."

But the phonograph continued playing the drearytune, so Ojo seized the crank, jerked it free andthrew it into the road. However, the moment thecrank struck the ground it hounded back to themachine again and began winding it up. And stillthe music played.

"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all startedand ran down the path as fast as they could go.But the phonograph was right behind themand could run and play at the same time. Itcalled out, reproachfully:

"What's the matter? Don't you love classicalmusic?"

"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We willpassical the classical and preserve what joy wehave left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness,but your music makes my cotton shrink."

"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-timetune on the other side," said the machine.

"What's rag-time?"

"The opposite of classical."

"All right," said Scraps, and turned over therecord.

The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumbleof sounds which proved so bewildering that after amoment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron into thegold horn and cried: "Stop--stop! That's the otherextreme. It's extremely bad!"

Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.

"If you don't shut off that music I'll smashyour record," threatened Ojo.

The music stopped, at that, and the machineturned its horn from one to another and saidwith great indignation: "What's the matternow? Is it possible you can't appreciate rag-time?"

"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," saidthe cat; "but I simply can't stand it; it makesmy whiskers curl."

"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, witha shudder.

"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad,"murmured the Patchwork Girl. "I'll tell you what,Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron andput it on again, "for some reason or other you'vemissed your guess. You're not a concert; you're anuisance. "

"Music hath charms to soothe the savagebreast," asserted the phonograph sadly.

"Then we're not savages. I advise you to gohome and beg the Magician's pardon."

"Never! He'd smash me."

"That's what we shall do, if you stay here,"Ojo declared.

"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else,"advised Scraps. "Find some one who is realwicked, and stay with him till he repents. Inthat way you can do some good in the world."

The music thing turned silently away andtrotted down a side path, toward a distantMunchkin village.

"Is that the way we go?" asked Bungle anxiously.

"No," said Ojo; "I think we shall keep straightahead, for this path is the widest and best.When we come to some house we will inquirethe way to the Emerald City."