"But I thought you were banished from there forever," put in Snip, who knew his Oz history by heart.
"I shall disguise myself," shrilled Mombi triumphantly. "I'll pretend I'm a market woman selling a fat goose and while I'm arguing with the cook, Pajuka shall fly into the palace and steal some of Ozma's magic."
"How do you know I shall?" honked Pajuka sulkily. "Ozma has never done me any harm. The thing for us to do is to find the King. Once we've come to the little wood where you transformed him you'll remember where he is. Why, maybe we'll find him before then."
"Yes, but what good will it do if I don't remember my magic," sniffed Mombi. "Unless you want to be a goose for the rest of your life, you'd better make up your mind to do what I say. As for you," the old witch whirled angrily upon Snip, "any more of this supposing and I'll turn you to a six pence and spend you at the first village."
Snip merely whistled and turned up his nose at this, for he knew perfectly well Mombi could not carry out her threat. Besides, Snip had a plan of his own. The little button boy had decided that as soon as they reached the famous capital of Oz he would slip away from Mombi and tell Princess Ozma the whole story. Then she herself could use her magic to help Pajuka find the King. So he stepped jauntily along, paying no attention to Mombi's mutterings, looking curiously to the right and left and thinking how much he should have to tell Kinda Jolly when he returned to Kimbaloo.
The forest, like all the northern lands of Oz, was slightly tinged with purple, the national color of the Gillikens. Pansies and tall purple flags grew around the bases of the giant trees and here and there clusters of violets nodded their pretty little heads in the breeze. Purple birds darted through the leaves overhead and the air was sweet from hidden beds of lavender, so that nothing could have been pleasanter than the first part of the day's journey. But toward noon they reached a portion of the forest so dark and impenetrable that they had to go single file, and even then had great difficulty in forcing their way through the trees and dense underbrush.
Growls and roars added still further to their discomforts, until Snip, feeling in his pocket for his trusty pen knife, began to wish himself safely back in the button wood. Pajuka half ran and waddled after him, giving every now and then a great flop of terror as a particularly fierce roar came echoing through the forest. Mombi, alone, seemed perfectly unconcerned and hobbled ahead whacking branches and bushes out of the way with her crooked stick.