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They looked at one another undecidedly, and then one portly bun man,

who seemed a person of consequence, stepped forward and said:

Little girl, to be frank with you, we are all eatables. Everything in

Bunbury is eatable to ravenous human creatures like you. But it is to

escape being eaten and destroyed that we have secluded ourselves in this

out-of-the-way place, and there is neither right nor justice in your

coming here to feed upon us."

Dorothy looked at him longingly.

You're bread, aren't you?" she asked.

Yes; bread and butter. The butter is inside me, so it won't melt and run.

I do the running myself."

At this joke all the others burst into a chorus of laughter, and Dorothy

thought they couldn't be much afraid if they could laugh like that.

Couldn't I eat something besides people?" she asked. "Couldn't I eat

just one house, or a side-walk or something? I wouldn't mind much

what it was, you know."

This is not a public bakery, child," replied the man, sternly. "It's private

property."

I know Mr.--Mr.--"

My name is C. Bunn, Esquire," said the man. "'C' stands for Cinnamon,

and this place is called after my family, which is the most aristocratic in

the town."

Oh, I don't know about that," objected another of the queer people. "The

Grahams and the Browns and Whites are all excellent families, and there

is none better of their kind. I'm a Boston Brown, myself."

I admit you are all desirable citizens," said Mr. Bunn rather stiffly; "but

the fact remains that our town is called Bunbury."

'Scuse me," interrupted Dorothy; "but I'm getting hungrier every minute.

Now, if you're polite and kind, as I'm sure you ought to be, you'll let me

eat SOMETHING. There's so much to eat here that you will never miss

it."

The Emerald City of Oz