As he straightened up, the gold spool whirled between two tall trees and came to a complete standstill on a short foot-path. A rustic railing ran along the edge of the path and, taking hold of the railing, Scrapper began looking anxiously around for the future ruler of Patch.
“Do you see anything?” he queried, looking over his shoulder.
“No, but I feel something,” grunted Piecer, peering anxiously down at his feet. “Beeswax and basting threads!”
Next instant both Quilties leapt into the air. Then, taking a firmer hold upon the railing and on each other, they clung desperately together, for the foot-path, rising up on its hundred broad feet, was rushing like the wind through the gloomy forest.
“Are—we—going—to—pieces?” shouted the Prime Piecer, not daring to open his eyes.
Cautiously Scrapper opened one eye and the first thing that met his gaze was a neat notice tacked on the rustic railing. It was only a blur, so fast were they travelling, but opening the other eye he managed to decipher it.
“This foot-path runs straight to the Emerald City. Hold tight. No stamping or kicking allowed.
“Private Property of the Wizard of Oz.”
