"Just like a poem I once read," said Dorothy, brightening up:
"And your hair has become very white,
And yet you incessantly stand on your head!
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"That's it, that's it exactly!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, as Dorothy finished repeating the verse. "'You are old, Father Scarecrow—!' that's all I hear. I did stand on my head, too. And, Dorothy, I can't seem to get used to being a grandparent," added the Scarecrow in a melancholy voice. "Ti's turning my straws gray." He plucked several from his chest and held them out to her. "Why, those little villians don't even believe in Oz! 'It's not on the map, old Grandpapapapapah!'" he mumbled, imitating the tones of his little grandsons so cleverly that Dorothy laughed in spite of herself.
"This is what comes of pride!" The Scarecrow extended his hands expressively. "Most people who hunt up their family trees are in for a fall, and I've had mine."
"But who do you want to be?" asked the Knight gravely. "A Scarecrow in Oz—or the—er—Emperor that you were?"
"I don't care who I were!" In his excitement the
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