"Not quite all," returned Dorothy with a smile. "I wish you'd tell me how you came to be alive."
"That's an easy job," said Scraps, sitting upon a big upholstered chair and making the springs bounce her up and down. "Margolotte wanted a slave, so she made me out of an old bed-quilt she didn't use. Cotton stuffing, suspender-button eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for teeth. The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life, sprinkled me with it and—here I am. Perhaps you've noticed my different colors. A very refined and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I met, told me I am the most beautiful creature in all Oz, and I believe it."
"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?" asked Dorothy, a little puzzled to understand the brief history related.
"Yes; isn't he jolly?"
"The Scarecrow has many good qualities," replied Dorothy. "But I'm sorry to hear all this 'bout the Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as hops when she hears he's been doing magic again. She told him not to."
"He only practices magic for the benefit of his own family," explained Bungle, who was keeping at a respectful distance from the little black dog.
"Dear me," said Dorothy; "I hadn't noticed you before. Are you glass, or what?"
"I'm glass, and transparent, too, which is more than can be said of some folks," answered the cat. "Also I have some lovely pink brains; you can see 'em work."
"Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see."
The Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.