“Whoever has owned that dishpan has been a good cook, for one thing. No one else is able to make such good cookies as I have cooked, as you and all the Yips know. Yet, the very morning after my dishpan was stolen, I tried to make a batch of cookies and they burned up in the oven! I made another batch that proved too tough to eat, and I was so ashamed of them that I buried them in the ground. Even the third batch of cookies, which I brought with me in my basket, were pretty poor stuff and no better than any woman could make who does not own my diamond-studded gold dishpan. In fact, my good Frogman, Cayke the Cookie Cook will never be able to cook good cookies again until her magic dishpan is restored to her.”

“In that case,” said the Frogman with a sigh, “I suppose we must manage to find it.”

Chapter 5

Ozma’s Friends Are Perplexed

“Really,” said Dorothy, looking solemn, “this is very s’prising. We can’t find even a shadow of Ozma anywhere in the Em’rald City; and, wherever she’s gone, she’s taken her Magic Picture with her.”

She was standing in the courtyard of the palace with Betsy and Trot, while Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, danced around the group, her hair flying in the wind.

“P’raps,” said Scraps, still dancing, “someone has stolen Ozma.”

“Oh, they’d never dare do that!” exclaimed tiny Trot.

“And stolen the Magic Picture, too, so the thing can’t tell where she is,” added the Patchwork Girl.

“That’s nonsense,” said Dorothy. “Why, ev’ryone loves Ozma. There isn’t a person in the Land of Oz who would steal a single thing she owns.”

“Huh!” replied the Patchwork Girl. “You don’t know ev’ry person in the Land of Oz.”

“Why don’t I?”

“It’s a big country,” said Scraps. “There are cracks and corners in it that even Ozma doesn’t know of.”

“The Patchwork Girl’s just daffy,” declared Betsy.

“No; she’s right about that,” replied Dorothy thoughtfully. “There are lots of queer people in this fairyland who never come near Ozma or the Em’rald City. I’ve seen some of ’em myself, girls; but I haven’t seen all, of course, and there might be some wicked persons left in Oz, yet, though I think the wicked witches have all been destroyed.”

Just then the Wooden Sawhorse dashed into the courtyard with the Wizard of Oz on his back.

“Have you found Ozma?” cried the Wizard when the Sawhorse stopped beside them.

“Not yet,” said Dorothy. “Doesn’t Glinda know where she is?”

“No. Glinda’s Book of Records and all her magic instruments are gone. Someone must have stolen them.”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Dorothy, in alarm. “This is the biggest steal I ever heard of. Who do you think did it, Wizard?”