"Dear me!" said Til; "what dreadful creatures. Where
did they come from?"

"We captured them," replied one of the Loons.

"And what are we going to do with them?" inquired the
girl Loon.

"Perhaps we'll condemn 'em and puncture 'em,"
answered the King.

"Well," said she, still eyeing the "I'm not sure
they'll puncture. Let's try it, and see."

One of the Loons ran to the forest's edge and quickly
returned with a long, sharp thorn. He glanced at the
King, who nodded his head in assent, and then he rushed
forward and stuck the thorn into the leg of the
Scarecrow. The Scarecrow merely smiled and said
nothing, for the thorn didn't hurt him at all.

Then the Loon tried to prick the Tin Woodman's leg,
but the tin only blunted the point of the thorn.

"Just as I thought," said Til, blinking her purple
eyes and shaking her puffy head; but just then the Loon
stuck the thorn into the leg of Woot the Wanderer, and
while it had been blunted somewhat, it was still sharp
enough to hurt.