“Keep my head!” shrilled Scraps, as the room tilted over and slid all the furniture sideways. “I’ll be lucky if I keep my feet. Whoopee! Here we go!” And go they did with a rush into the farthest corner. Slowly the room righted itself and everything grew quiet again.
“I know what I’m going to do,” said the Scarecrow determinedly. “Before anything else happens I’m going to see what has happened already.”
“How?” asked Scraps, bouncing to her feet.
Dorothy and Toto
“The Magic Picture,” gasped the Scarecrow. “You bring the candle, Scraps, like a good girl. You’re less liable to take fire than I am. Then we’ll come back and help Dorothy and the others.”
“Good idea,” said Scraps, taking the candle from the mantel. Breathlessly the two tip-toed along the hall to Ozma’s apartment. On the wall in one of Ozma’s rooms hangs the most magic possession in Oz. It is a picture representing a country scene, but when you ask it where a certain person is, immediately he is shown in the picture and also what he is doing at the time.
“So,” murmured the Scarecrow, as they gained the room in safety, “if it tells where other people are, it ought to tell us where we are ourselves.”
Drawing aside the curtain that covered the picture the Scarecrow demanded loudly, “Where are we?”