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These must be the Slow Pokes," giggled Dorothy, nudging the Cowardly

Lion. "Let's go to meet them, for they'll never reach us at the rate they are

coming!"

There's something wrong with my feet," rumbled the Cowardly Lion without

looking up. "Hah, hoh, hum! What's the use of hurrying?" The fact of the

matter was that they couldn't hurry if they tried. Indeed, they could hardly

lift their feet at all.

I wish the Scarecrow were with us," sighed the Cowardly Lion, shuffling

along unhappily. "He never grows sleepy, and he always knows what to do."

"No use wishing," yawned Dorothy. "I only hope he's not as lost as we are."

By struggling hard, they just managed to keep moving, and by the time they

came up with the Slow Pokes, they were completely worn out. A cross-

looking Poke held up his arm threateningly, and Dorothy and the Cowardly

Lion stopped.

You--" said the Poke; then closed his mouth and stood staring vacantly for

a whole minute.

"Are--" He brought out the word with a perfectly enormous yawn, and

Dorothy began fanning the Cowardly Lion with her hat, for he showed signs

of falling asleep again.

What?" she asked crossly.

"Under--" sighed the Poke after a long pause, and Dorothy, seeing that there

was no hurrying him, began counting to herself. Just as she reached sixty,

the Poke pushed back his red nightcap and shouted:

"Arrest!"

"Arrest!" shouted all the other Pokes so loud that the Cowardly Lion roused

himself with a start, and the pet snails stuck out their heads. "A rest? A rest

is not what we want! We want breakfast!" growled the lion irritably and

started to roar, but a yawn spoiled it. (One simply cannot look fierce by

yawning.)

"You--" began the Poke. But Dorothy could not stand hearing the same slow

speech again. Putting her fingers in her ears, she shouted back:

What for?"

The Royal Book of Oz