cried, and grabbed up the golden bottle, with
which he ran to Margolotte.

Said the Patchwork Girl:


"Higgledy, piggledy, dee--
What fools magicians be!
His head's so thick
He can't think quick,
So he takes advice from me."


Standing upon the bench, for he was so
crooked he could not reach the top of his wife's
head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking
the bottle. But not a grain of powder came out.
He pulled off the cover, glanced within, and
then threw the bottle from him with a wail of
despair.

"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried.
"Wasted on that miserable phonograph when
it might have saved my dear wife!"

Then the Magician bowed his head on his
crooked arms and began to cry.

Ojo was sorry for him. He went up to the
sorrowful man and said softly: