“Then why do you try to remember to be?” asked Dorothy with a little laugh, while Toto made a playful dash at the stranger’s heels.
“A great deal depends on my remembering,” explained the young man eagerly. “If I forget to be unhappy I may forget why I fell down the mountain and why I am wandering in this strange country without friends or food.”
“Well, why are you?” Dorothy could control her curiosity no longer.
“I am seeking a Princess,” replied the youth solemnly.
“A Princess! Well, will I do?” Dorothy smiled mischievously and while the stranger stared at her, round-eyed, she made him her prettiest court bow. The result was extremely funny. The Forgetful Poet—for of course you have guessed all along that it was he—extended his arms toward Toto and cried accusingly:
“I looked the maiden in the eye,
I looked her up and down,
She says she is a Princess,
But, she hasn’t any—any—?”
Toto barked indignantly at this limping poetry.
“I suppose you mean crown,” giggled Dorothy. “Yes I have too, but it’s at home, in Ozma’s castle.”
“The crown is in the castle,
The castle’s in the town;
The town is in the land of Oz,
But how about her—her—”
He stared helplessly at Dorothy’s gingham dress and, with another little scream of laughter, Dorothy finished his verse. “Gown!” spluttered the little girl. “Do you always talk like that?”