Dorothy home?” the Tin Woodman said to no one in particular.

Eager to demonstrate that with his new brain he was neither addled nor irresolute, the Scarecrow immediately suggested a plan. “Let’s ask the soldier in the green uniform,” he said. Now, even though, as far as plans go, this wasn’t much of one, no one scoffed at it. When the would-be oracle was summoned, he entered the Throne Room timidly, for while Oz was at the helm he never was allowed inside the sacrosanct inner chamber.

“This little girl,” said the Scarecrow to the soldier, “wishes to go back to Kansas. How can she do so?”

“She can’t,” answered the soldier tersely. Suddenly aware that his answer may have sounded glib or possibly cavalier to his new ruler, he quickly clapped his hand over his mouth and made a protracted show of sycophantic bowing. Then, standing at attention with serious mien, he continued in a tone imbued with piety, “Perhaps Glinda, the Good Witch of the South, might help you.” As he spoke he inwardly feared that his silly toadyism might in some way denigrate the memory of his former ruler, but he couldn’t help himself. He finished in the same respectful, staid manner, “She’s the most powerful of all the Witches and she rules over the Quadlings.”

“How can we get to her castle?” asked the Scarecrow.

“The road is straight to the South,” he answered complaisantly, with a gratuitous smile. Being unaccustomed to his new ruler’s personality, the soldier wasn’t sure exactly how much groveling—or of what sort—was appropriate. Then as he walked toward the door, it suddenly occurred to him that, though he still secretly worshiped the Wizard, it probably would be politic to congratulate his new boss. Whether he was a phony, traitor, or apostate, he supposed, depended on one’s point of view. As he reached the doorway, he turned, bowed, and, feeling more perfidious than ever, said in a stilted manner, “My felicitations on your new position.” He closed the door behind him.

Now everyone looked to the Scarecrow, who, trying hard to sound omniscient, proclaimed, “The best thing we can do is travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help Dorothy.”

They started leaving the room in single file, with Dorothy at the rear. Just as she was about to exit, her attention was drawn to an envelope lying on a nearby table. As her curiosity became more and more piqued, her pace became correspondingly laggard. Staying behind to have a look, she furtively picked up the envelop and examined it. Though it and the paper inside had been turned yellow and brittle by the normal depredations of time, the writing on them was perfectly legible. As soon as she started reading, she realized that this was a letter the Wizard had written long ago but had never mailed. Unable to stop herself, she read the whole thing, as follows:

Dear Mom,

I have to tell you about one of the strangest places I’ve encountered here in