On reaching the top of the hill, the plain spread out
before them in all its beauty of blue grasses and
wildflowers, and Mount Munch seemed much nearer than it
had the previous evening. They trudged on at a brisk
pace, and by noon the mountain was so close that they
could admire its appearance. Its slopes were partly
clothed with pretty evergreens, and its foot-hills were
tufted with a slender waving bluegrass that had a
tassel on the end of every blade. And, for the first
time, they perceived, near the foot of the mountain, a
charming house, not of great size but neatly painted
and with many flowers surrounding it and vines climbing
over the doors and windows.
It was toward this solitary house that our travelers
now directed their steps, thinking to inquire of the
people who lived there where Nimmie Amee might be
found.
There were no paths, but the way was quite open and
clear, and they were drawing near to the dwelling when
Woot the Wanderer, who was then in the lead of the
little party, halted with such an abrupt jerk that he
stumbled over backward and lay flat on his back in the
meadow. The Scarecrow stopped to look at the boy.
"Why did you do that?" he asked in surprise.
Woot sat up and gazed around him in amazement.
"I -- I don't know!" he replied.
The two tin men, arm in arm, started to pass them
when both halted and tumbled, with a great clatter,
into a heap beside Woot.
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