Ugu had not lost his knowledge of magic when he lost his shape as a man, and he now realized it was hopeless to oppose the power of the Magic Belt and knew that his only hope of escape lay in instant action. So he quickly flew into the golden jeweled dishpan he had stolen from Cayke the Cookie Cook and, as birds can talk as well as beasts or men in the Fairyland of Oz, he muttered the magic word that was required and wished himself in the Country of the Quadlings—which was as far away from the wicker castle as he believed he could get.

Our friends did not know, of course, what Ugu was about to do. They saw the dishpan tremble an instant and then disappear, the dove disappearing with it, and although they waited expectantly for some minutes for the magician’s return, Ugu did not come back again.

“Seems to me,” said the Wizard in a cheerful voice, “that we have conquered the wicked magician more quickly than we expected to.”

“Don’t say ‘we’—Dorothy did it!” cried the Patchwork Girl, turning three somersaults in succession and then walking around on her hands. “Hurrah for Dorothy!”

“I thought you said you did not know how to use the magic of the Nome King’s Belt,” said the Wizard to Dorothy.

“I didn’t know, at that time,” she replied, “but afterward I remembered how the Nome King once used the Magic Belt to enchant people and transform ’em into ornaments and all sorts of things; so I tried some enchantments in secret and after a while I transformed the Sawhorse into a potato-masher and back again, and the Cowardly Lion into a pussycat and back again, and then I knew the thing would work all right.”

“When did you perform those enchantments?” asked the Wizard, much surprised.

“One night when all the rest of you were asleep but Scraps, and she had gone chasing moonbeams.”

“Well,” remarked the Wizard, “your discovery has certainly saved us a lot of trouble, and we must all thank the Frogman, too, for making such a good fight. The dove’s shape had Ugu’s evil disposition inside it, and that made the monster bird dangerous.”

The Frogman was looking sad because the bird’s talons had torn his pretty clothes, but he bowed with much dignity at this well-deserved praise. Cayke, however, had squatted on the floor and was sobbing bitterly.

“My precious dishpan is gone!” she wailed. “Gone, just as I had found it again!”

“Never mind,” said Trot, trying to comfort her, “it’s sure to be somewhere, so we’ll cert’nly run across it someday.”

“Yes, indeed,” added Betsy; “now that we have Ozma’s Magic Picture, we can tell just where the Dove went with your dishpan.”