“Something has to be done, quick,” breathed Peg, clasping her hands, “for soon we’ll be in Ev.”
Pompa, holding his silk handkerchief before his face, had come up beside her and they both looked anxiously for the first signs of the country that held Ruggedo and the giant who had run off with Ozma’s palace.
“Oh, Mr. Land,” called Peg suddenly.
“Yes, Princess,” answered the Country, without slackening its speed.
“Have you thought about feeding us?” asked the Wooden Doll gently. “I don’t see any fruit trees or vegetables or chickens and settlers must eat, you know. We ought to have some seeds to plant and some building materials, oughtn’t we, if we’re going to make you into an up-to-Oz Country?”
“Pshaw!” said the Runaway Country, stopping with a jolt, “I never thought of that. Can’t you eat grass and fish? There’s fine fish in my lakes.”
“Well, I don’t eat at all,” explained Peg pleasantly, “but Pompa is a Prince and a Prince has to have meat and vegetables and puddings on Sunday—”
“And I have to have lettuce and carrots and cabbages, or I won’t work!” cried Wag, thumping with his hind feet and winking at Kabumpo. “I’ll not dig a single mountain!”
“And I’ve got to have my ton of hay a day, too!” trumpeted the Elegant Elephant, “or I’ll not lug a single log. Pretty poor sort of a Country you are, expecting us to live on grass as if we were donkeys and goats.”