Having done this, Til Loon tossed the bit of skin to the other Loons and was about to go away when she noticed the prisoners and stopped to inspect them.
"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.
"Ouch!" yelled Woot, and kicked out his leg with so much energy that the frail bonds that tied him burst apart.

His foot caught the Loon--who was leaning over him--full on his puffy stomach, and sent him shooting up into the air.