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because the Cap’s extortionate price was more than the Princess could afford. She ended up borrowing the money from a usurer, and the excessive interest forced her to survive on frugal meals for months! But today few give much credence to that story. Of course, my grandfather and all the other Monkeys at once agreed to the condition, and that’s how it happens that the Monkeys are the slaves of whoever owns the Cap.

"The new Prince, being the first owner of the Cap, was the first to impose a wish upon the Monkeys. As his bride had a natural antipathy toward them, he called all of them together and ordered them always to keep where his wife wouldn’t set eyes on them, which they were glad to do, for they were all afraid of her and had no desire of any rapprochement.

“And this was all they ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into the hands of the Wicked Witch of the West, who forced them to wantonly pillage all the nearby villages. The Monkeys, of course, having no desire of rapine, were horrified and guilt-ridden by the reprehensible acts they were forced to commit.”

Just when the King finished his story by saying, “…and everyone hated them and referred to them as ‘the scourge of the land,’” the Monkeys carefully set the travelers down in the beautiful country of the Quadlings. “How interesting,” Dorothy said. Then, waving to the Monkeys as they rose into the air and flew away, she yelled, “Thank you!”

Chapter 27 “The Land of the South”

Now Dorothy surveyed the surrounding area. The country of the Quadlings appeared affluent and happy. There was field upon field of ripening grain—the mainstay of their economy—with well-paved roads running between, and pretty rippling brooks with strong bridges across them. The fences and houses were all painted red, and the amicable-looking Quadlings themselves, who were short but portly, were all dressed in red—except a lone teenaged boy. This renegade, convinced that the Emerald City was the bellwether of the fashion industry, sported an outfit of bright, bilious green.

“How far is it to Glinda’s Castle?” Dorothy asked a passerby, a porcine little man with a cherubic, rubicund face.

“It’s not a great way,” he answered congenially, doffing his hat. “Take the road to the South and you’ll soon reach it.”

They walked past idyllic fields and across pretty bridges until they spotted a beautiful Castle. Walking closer, they saw, garrisoned at the gate, a young, pretty, blonde-haired soldier girl in a red uniform. Attached to her belt was a long sword with a gilded hilt. As Dorothy approached, the soldier said to her, “Why have you come to the Land of the South?”

“To see the Good Witch who rules here,” Dorothy answered, staring at the golden haft and deciding that it must be a harbinger of hope. “Will you take us to her?”

“Give me your names and I’ll ask Glinda if she’ll see you,” answered the girl. Dorothy explained who

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