“I do not blame you,” said the Scarecrow. “Education is a thing to be proud of. I’m educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled.”
“Nevertheless,” interrupted the Tin Woodman, “a good heart is, I believe, much more desirable than education or brains.”
“To me,” said the Saw-Horse, “a good leg is more desirable than either.”
“Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?” enquired the Pumpkinhead, abruptly.
“Keep quiet!” commanded Tip, sternly.
“Very well, dear father,” answered the obedient Jack.
The Woggle-Bug listened patiently—even respectfully—to these remarks, and then resumed his story.
“I must have lived fully three years in that secluded school-house hearth,” said he, “drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of limpid knowledge before me.”
“Quite poetical,” commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head approvingly.
“But one, day” continued the Bug, “a marvelous circumstance occurred that altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of greatness. The Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across the hearth, and before I could escape he had caught me between his thumb and forefinger.