All that first day after the union of the two parties our friends marched steadily toward the wicker castle of Ugu the Shoemaker. When night came they camped in a little grove and passed a pleasant evening together, although some of them were worried because Button-Bright was still lost.

“Perhaps,” said Toto, as the animals lay grouped together for the night, “this Shoemaker who stole my growl, and who stole Ozma, has also stolen Button-Bright.”

“How do you know that the Shoemaker stole your growl?” demanded the Woozy.

“He has stolen about everything else of value in Oz, hasn’t he?” replied the dog.

“He has stolen everything he wants, perhaps,” agreed the Lion; “but what could anyone want with your growl?”

“Well,” said the dog, wagging his tail slowly, “my recollection is that it was a wonderful growl, soft and low and—and—”

“And ragged at the edges,” said the Sawhorse.

“So,” continued Toto, “if that magician hadn’t any growl of his own, he might have wanted mine and stolen it.”

“And, if he has, he will soon wish he hadn’t,” remarked the Mule. “Also, if he has stolen Button-Bright he will be sorry.”

“Don’t you like Button-Bright, then?” asked the Lion in surprise.

“It isn’t a question of liking him,” replied the Mule. “It’s a question of watching him and looking after him. Any boy who causes his friends so much worry isn’t worth having around. I never get lost.”

“If you did,” said Toto, “no one would worry a bit. I think Button-Bright is a very lucky boy, because he always gets found.”

“See here,” said the Lion, “this chatter is keeping us all awake and tomorrow is likely to be a busy day. Go to sleep and forget your quarrels.”

“Friend Lion,” retorted the dog, “if I hadn’t lost my growl you would hear it now. I have as much right to talk as you have to sleep.”

The Lion sighed.

“If only you had lost your voice, when you lost your growl,” said he, “you would be a more agreeable companion.”

But they quieted down, after that, and soon the entire camp was wrapped in slumber.

Next morning they made an early start but had hardly proceeded on their way an hour when, on climbing a slight elevation, they beheld in the distance a low mountain, on top of which stood Ugu’s wicker castle. It was a good-sized building and rather pretty because the sides, roofs and domes were all of wicker closely woven, as it is in fine baskets.

“I wonder if it is strong?” said Dorothy musingly, as she eyed the queer castle.

“I suppose it is, since a magician built it,” answered the Wizard. “With magic to protect it, even a paper castle might be as strong as if made of stone. This Ugu must be a man of ideas, because he does things in a different way from other people.”