"High time! High time!" answered the Scarecrow, waving his old blue hat up at the clock in the tallest tower of the castle. "And we'll have a high time when she does come," he smiled gaily. "I've thought up a dozen new games and—. What's that?" cried the Scarecrow, interrupting himself suddenly and blinking his painted eyes so fast that Betsy bounded out of her chair.
"What's that?" echoed the little Queen of Oz, springing up in alarm. Something gold and brilliant had flashed through the air and fallen upon the walk.
"A feather!" puffed Sir Hokus. "Odds goblins and hoblins, a feather!" He stooped creakily to pick it up, but as he did the golden quill righted itself and began to move rapidly across the marble walk.
"It's writing!" gasped Trot, clutching the Scarecrow by the arm, and in dazed fascination they watched the feather tracing a sentence. When it had set down five words, it made a little gold dot and fell lifelessly at Ozma's feet.
"Danger! Go to Morrow to-day!" stuttered the Scarecrow, reading the golden message aloud.
"How now," thundered Sir Hokus, letting his visor fall with a crash, "what means this message?"
"Go to-morrow!" gulped the Scarecrow, clapping on his hat and squinting down at the golden legend on the walk.
"Not to-morrow, to-day," corrected Betsy Bobbin breathlessly.
