Pompa’s heart almost stopped, and even Kabumpo’s gave a queer jump. On a golden bench, just ahead, sat the loveliest person either had seen in all of their eighteenth birthdays.
“Ozma,” gasped the Elegant Elephant, as soon as he had breath enough to whisper. “What luck! You must ask her at once.”
“Not now,” begged the Prince of Pumperdink, as Kabumpo unceremoniously helped him to the ground. His knees shook, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He had never proposed to a Fairy Princess before in his whole life. Then all at once he had an idea. Slipping his hand into the Elegant Elephant’s pocket, he drew out the magic mirror. “I’ll see if she’s a princess,” stuttered Pompa.
The elephant shook his head angrily but was afraid to speak again lest he disturb the quiet figure on the bench.
“And I’ll not propose unless she is the one,” said Pompa, tip-toeing toward the bench. Without making a sound he suddenly held the mirror before the startled and lovely lady.
“Glinda, good Sorceress of Oz,” flashed the mirror promptly.
“Great gooseberries!” cried Glinda, springing to her feet in alarm and swinging around on Pompa. “Where did you come from?” After studying a whole day and night in her magic books, Glinda had returned to the Emerald City to try to perfect her plan for rescuing Ozma.
“From Pumperdink, your Highness,” puffed Kabumpo, lunging forward anxiously. He, too, had seen the words in the mirror and the fear of offending a Sorceress made him quake in his skin—which was loose enough to quake in, dear knows!
“A thousand pardons!” cried the Prince, dropping on one knee and taking off his crown. “We were seeking Princess Ozma, the Fairy Ruler of Oz.”
Glinda looked from Kabumpo to the Prince and controlled a desire to laugh. The Elegant Elephant’s torn and scorched robe hung in rags from his shoulders and his jeweled headpiece was dangling over one ear. Pompa’s clothes were equally shabby and his almost bald head with a lock sticking up here and there gave him a singular and comical appearance.