I think we must venture into the mist."

"But we can't see where we're going, or what we're
stepping on," protested Dorothy. "There may be
dreadful things mixed up in that fog, an' I'm scared
just to think of wading into it."

Even Ozma seemed to hesitate. She was silent and
thoughtful for a little while, looking at the rolling
drifts that were so gray and forbidding. Finally she
said:

"I believe this is a Mist Valley, where these moist
clouds always remain, for even the sunshine above does
not drive them away. Therefore the Mist Maids must live
here, and they are fairies and should answer my call."

She placed her two hands before her mouth, forming a
hollow with them, and uttered a clear, thrilling, bird-
like cry. It floated far out over the mist waves and
presently was answered by a similar sound, as of a far-
off echo.

Dorothy was much impressed. She had seen many strange
things since coming to this fairy country, but here was
a new experience. At ordinary times Ozma was just like
any little girl one might chance to meet -- simple,
merry, lovable as could be -- yet with a certain
reserve that lent her dignity in her most joyous moods.
There were times, however, when seated on her throne