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"Now don't be in such a rush," begged the Scarecrow, secretly determined to

lock up the wizards at the first opportunity. "I'm rather fond of this shape.

You see, it requires no food and never grows tired--or old!"

The royal robes will in a measure conceal it," murmured the Grand Chew

Chew politely, and clapped his hands. A little servitor bounced into the hall.

"A royal robe, Quick Silver, for his Radiant Highness," snapped the Grand

Chew Chew. In a moment Quick Silver had returned with a magnificent

purple satin robe embroidered in silver threads and heavy with jewels, and a

hat of silver cloth with upturned brim. The Scarecrow wrapped himself in

the purple robe, took off his old Munchkin hat, and substituted the Imperial

headpiece.

How do I look, Chew?" he asked anxiously.

Quite like your old Imperial Self, except--" The old Prime Minister ran

unsteadily out of the room. There was a muffled scream from the hall, and

the next instant he returned with a long, shiny, silver queue which he had

evidently clipped from the head of one of the servants. Removing the

Scarecrow's hat, he pinned the queue to the back, set it on the Scarecrow's

head, and stood regarding him with great satisfaction. "Ah, if the Empress

could only see you!" he murmured rapturously.

Where--where is she?" asked the Scarecrow, looking around nervously. His

long, care-free life in Oz had somewhat unfitted him, he reflected, for family

life.

Alas!" sighed the Grand Chew Chew, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his

kimono, "She has returned to her silver ancestors."

"Then show me her picture," commanded the Scarecrow, visibly affected.

The Grand Chew Chew stepped to a side wall, and pulling on a silken cord,

disclosed the picture of a large, gray lady with curiously small eyes and a

curiously large nose.

Is she not beautiful?" asked the Grand Chew Chew, bowing his head.

Beautiful--er--er, beautiful!" gulped the Scarecrow. He thought of lovely

little Ozma and dear little Dorothy, and all at once felt terribly upset and

homesick. He had no recollection of the Silver Island or his life here

whatever. Who was he, anyway--the Scarecrow of Oz or Emperor Chang

Wang Woe? He couldn't be both.

The Royal Book of Oz