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The Gnome King of Oz

‘No wonder the Queens go to pieces so fast,” groaned Scraps, anxiously examining a rip in her cotton finger. She had caught it on a nail while scrubbing the castle steps.

"Kazupp Kazoo, what shall I do?
Stay here and go to pieces, too? Never!

Springing up, she took the candle the Quilties had placed on the center table and ran from one window to the other. But the windows were all locked and barred and, after rattling the door knobs and pounding on the walls, she sat dejectedly down in the rocking chair again. There was nothing in the room to amuse her. All the books in the bookcase were needle-books, all the cushions were pin-cushions and the wall was simply covered with cross stitched mottoes.

“A stitch in time saves nine!” sniffed Scraps, scornfully reading the one nearest her. ‘Well, who wants to save nine? Why should nine be saved any more than six or seven?”

There was no one to argue it with, so after a little silence she murmured: “I wonder what’s in that chest?” Except for a few rickety chairs and the sewing-table, the chest was the only other piece of furniture in the room. Taking the candle, Scraps

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