"Let the boy alone," panted Pajuka. Then, seeing that it was useless to appeal to Mombi's goodness he began to appeal to her badness. "The King will reward you generously, if you restore him to the throne," began Pajuka craftily. "Nothing is to be gained by this quarreling. Let us put our heads together and find the King of Oz."
Still holding Snip tightly by the wrist, Mombi sank upon a crooked stool and, half closing her eyes, began to think of the bad old days before little Ozma was Queen—the bad old days when witches had been free to practice their arts and she herself was one of the most powerful witches in the land.
"I'll do it!" declared Mombi suddenly. "But how shall we find him when I forget what I have done with him?"
"I'd know him anywhere," gulped Pajuka, two tears dropping off the end of his bill. "Haven't I been hunting him all these years?"
"Yes, but I think he is transformed," muttered Mombi uneasily. "If the King is not himself how do you expect to recognize him?"
"I'd know him in any shape," insisted the goose. "But try—try to remember. You turned Ozma to a boy and me to a goose. What did you do with the King?"
So interested had the two become by this time, they had almost forgotten the presence of Snip. But Snip was listening with all his might, his ears fairly tingling with curiosity. The lad, like many another Gilliken boy, was perfectly familiar with the history of Oz. For while they gathered buttons in the wood, King Kinda had read them many a strange chapter from the big purple history books.