"Didn't you fight?" he asked, as the medicine man stared sadly at his boots.
"Oh, yes!" the little fellow assured him earnestly, "but Mombi had the strength of ten men and tumbled me into the cauldron before I could even call for help. Being a native of Oz, I could not be utterly destroyed. I remember quite distinctly melting into the cough mixture and later being poured into a bottle. After that I recall nothing till you knocked me from the shelf this morning. How do I look?" he asked.
"You look all right to me," answered Philador kindly. "How do you feel?"
"Well," answered the medicine man, clearing his throat experimentally, "I feel a little hoarse, but I suppose that's the cough mixture." Jumping briskly to his feet he walked over to a large mirror that hung on the wall of the shed, and leaning forward stared long and earnestly at his reflection.
"Well?" asked Philador as the little man continued to gaze in the mirror, "are you the same?"
"No, I've shrunk! It must have been the boiling," mused the medicine man in a depressed voice. "My eyes look queer and there's a queer rattle in my chest. Hear it?" He shook himself from side to side, and Philador was forced to confess that he did. "Never mind, though," piped the little fellow at last. "I'm out of that bottle and that's something!" Throwing out his chest he put both hands in his pockets and beamed upon the little boy.
Philador gave a frightened scream and pointing at his shirt front bade him look in the mirror. No wonder Philador had screamed! When the medicine man threw out his chest, both sides of his shirt front flew open like the doors in a small closet, disclosing three shelves. On these shelves stood a row of boxes and bottles and as the little Prince continued to stare, the old gentleman took out first one and then another. Clicking his heels together he sprang gleefully into the air.
