“It wouldn’t be safe to jump off,” thought the little girl, “for we’d probably be broken to bits, but—” Her eyes travelled upward to the trees and bushes that were flashing past as the runaway flung itself recklessly through the forest—“If we caught hold of a low branch the old road would go on without us,” she reflected triumphantly.
As well as she could, for bumps and bounces, she whispered her plan to Percy Vere. He nodded enthusiastically and transferred Toto to his blouse, so that Dorothy would have both hands free. Then, when a huge tree loomed up ahead, they both began to count, and as its branches stretched over the runaway, they hurled themselves upward and held on for dear life. Beneath slithered the road and not until the last yellow length of it had flashed by did Dorothy and Percy Vere let go. Percy dropped to the ground first, gently lifted Dorothy down, and took the frightened, wiggling little Toto out of his blouse.
“Whew!” breathed Dorothy, leaning dizzily against Percy, “that’s the worst ride I’ve had for a long time. Wonder where we are?”
“Do—we—do—this—often?” panted the Forgetful Poet, looking at Dorothy with round eyes. “I’m perfectly pulverized!”
“Well, I never met a runaway before,” confessed Dorothy, “but you never can tell what’s going to happen in Oz, so first thing we’d better do is to find out where we are!”
“We’re in a forest dark and deep,
I hope the bears are all—are all—”
“Asleep! So do I!” sighed Dorothy, and began tip-toeing along under the great lonesome trees, Toto keeping close at her side and Percy Vere treading softly behind her.
Prince Forge John of Fire Island
