DOROTHY FORGIVES The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes.

After a time, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove.

The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it.
While he was thus engaged, the Scarecrow remarked, "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice, clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman with a sigh of pleasure.

"You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy.

You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day.
Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers.