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The Gnome King of Oz

thumping himself three times upon the chest.

“Well, you don’t act like one,” answered Peter, in disgust. “If you are the King of this island I wish you’d give me some supper and a place to sleep.”

“King of this island!” screamed the angry little man. “I’m Ruggedo, the Rough, the one and only Metal Monarch and ruler over five hundred thousand gnomes besides.”

“Gnomes!” murmured Peter, pushing back his cap. He had read about these underground elves, who mine all the precious stones in and out of the world, but he had never really believed in them.

“Yes, gnomes!” boasted the little grey gentleman, marching proudly up and down.

“Where are they?” inquired Peter, a little anxiously. For, thought Peter to himself, if they are all as cross and tempery as this one, life on the island is going to be very unpleasant and dangerous.

“You stand there and ask me that,” howled the Gnome King furiously. “Don’t you know I’ve been banished from my Kingdom for years and made a prisoner on this ridiculous little island, just because I tried to get back my magic belt from Ozma of Oz? Don’t you know it was a miserable child who stole it in the first place. I hate children,’ repeated the

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