“Out!” shrilled Scraps, and bouncing up like a Jill in the box, gave Scrapper a resounding smack on the ear.
“You villain ragman
Take me back
How dare you hurl
Me in a sack?”
she cried furiously and, whirling upon Piecer, boxed his ears as soundly as she had boxed Scrapper’s. At this the delight of the Quilties knew no bounds. They began to cheer and stamp with approval.
“What a fine temper! What a marvelous beauty! She’s the Queen for us.” And raising their shears they shouted altogether, “Hurrah for the Queen of the Quilties!”
“Try to act like a Queen, can’t you?” puffed Scrapper, seizing the agitated Patchwork Girl by the arm.
“You’re making a great hit!” whispered Piecer persuasively. “Give me your name, maiden, so I can announce it to your subjects.” By this time Scraps had recovered enough to look around and what she saw interested her greatly. The gaudy Quilty Kingdom, with its gay cotton patches, the Quilties themselves, in their oddly patched clothes, seemed as beautiful to Scraps as she seemed to them.
“What do you mean? Am I a Queen?” she demanded, rolling her suspender button eyes from side to side. The Prime Ministers of Patch nodded and, as they did, two Quilties, with a huge patchwork arm chair on wheels, pushed their way through the crowd.