“Yes, we can see that, all right,” sniffed Kabumpo.
“And I’m ambitious,” continued the Country huskily. “I want to be cultivated and built up like other Kingdoms. So, one day I made up my mind I wouldn’t wait any longer but would run off myself and discover some settlers. As I have ten mountains and each has a foot there seemed to be no reason why I shouldn’t run away, so I did—and I have!”
The Country rolled its lakes triumphantly at the little party on the hill. “I have found some settlers and I’m looking to you to develop me into a good, modern, up-to-Oz Kingdom. I’m a progressive Country and I expect you to improve and make something out of me,” it continued earnestly. “There’s gold to be dug out of my mountains, plenty of good farm land to be planted and cities to be built, and—”
“What do you think we are?” exploded Kabumpo indignantly. “Slaves?”
“He’ll get used to it in time,” said the Runaway Country, paying no attention to Kabumpo, “and he’ll be useful for drawing logs. Now you,” he turned his watery eyes full on Peg Amy, “you seem to be the most sensible one in the party, so I think I shall bestow myself upon you. Of course you’re not at all handsome nor regular, but from now on you may consider yourself a Princess and me as your Kingdom.”
“Thank you! Thank you very much!” said Peg Amy, hardly knowing what else to say.
“Hurrah for the Princess of Runaway Island!” cried Wag, standing on his head. “I always knew you were a Princess, Peg my dear.”
“Oh, hush!” whispered Pompa. “Can’t you see it’s getting more reasonable? Maybe Peg can persuade it to stop.”
“If it doesn’t stop soon I’ll tear all its trees out by the roots,” grumbled Kabumpo under his breath. “Logging, indeed! Great Grump! Here’s the Deadly Desert!”
The air was now so hot and choking that Pompa flung himself face down on the cool grass. The Runaway Country did not seem to notice the burning sands and pattered smoothly along on its ten mountain feet.