approvingly. "I'm glad to find you have decent
brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can
see 'em work; they're pink."

"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me
'Scraps'? Is that my name?"

"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to
name you 'Angeline,'" said the Magician.

"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a
laugh. "It fits me better, for my patchwork is
all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for
naming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of
your own?"

"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once
gave me, but which is quite undignified for
one of my importance," answered the cat. "She
called me 'Bungle.'"

"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad
bungle, taken all in all. I was wrong to make
you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and
brittle thing never before existed."

"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the
cat. "I've been alive a good many years, for
Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first
magic Powder of Life he ever made, and so