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      “I don’t see as it’s any more curious than hearing hens talk,” returned Uncle Henry.

      “You’re likely to see many queer things in the Land of Oz, sir,” said the Wizard. “But a fairy country is extremely interesting when you get used to being surprised.”

      “Here we are!” called the Captain, stopping before a cottage.

      This house was made of wood, and was remarkably pretty in design. In the Emerald City it would have been considered a tiny dwelling, indeed; but in the midst of this paper village it seemed immense. Real flowers were in the garden and real trees grew beside it. Upon the front door was a sign reading:

       MISS CUTTENCLIP

      Just as they reached the porch the front door opened and a little girl stood before them. She appeared to be about the same age as Dorothy, and smiling upon her visitors she said, sweetly:

      “You are welcome.”

      All the party seemed relieved to find that here was a real girl, of flesh and blood. She was very dainty and pretty as she stood there welcoming them. Her hair was a golden blonde and her eyes turquoise blue. She had rosy cheeks and lovely white teeth. Over her simple white lawn dress she wore an apron with pink and white checks, and in one hand she held a pair of scissors.

      “May we see Miss Cuttenclip, please?” asked Dorothy.

      “I am Miss Cuttenclip,” was the reply. “Won’t you come in?”

      She held the door open while they all entered a pretty sitting-room that was littered with all sorts of paper—some stiff, some thin, and some tissue. The sheets and scraps were of all colors. Upon a table were paints and brushes, while several pair of scissors, of different sizes, were lying about.

      “Sit down, please,” said Miss Cuttenclip, clearing the paper scraps off some of the chairs. “It is so long since I have had any visitors that I am not properly prepared to receive them. But I’m sure you will pardon my untidy room, for this is my workshop.”

      “Do you make all the paper dolls?” inquired Dorothy.

      “Yes; I cut them out with my scissors, and paint the faces and some of the costumes. It is very pleasant work, and I am happy making my paper village grow.”

      “But how do the paper dolls happen to be alive?” asked Aunt Em.

      “The first dolls I made were not alive,” said Miss Cuttenclip. “I used to live near the castle of a great Sorceress named Glinda the Good, and she saw my dolls and said they were very pretty. I told her I thought I would like them better if they were alive, and the next day the Sorceress brought me a lot of magic paper. ‘This is live paper,’ she said, ‘and all the dolls you cut out of it will be alive, and able to think and to talk. When you have used it all up, come to me and I will give you more.’

      “Of course I was delighted with this present,” continued Miss Cuttenclip, “and at once set to work and made several paper dolls, which, as soon as they were cut out, began to walk around and talk to me. But they were so thin that I found that any breeze would blow them over and scatter them dreadfully; so Glinda found this lonely place for me, where few people ever come. She built the wall to keep any wind from blowing away my people, and told me I could build a paper village here and be its Queen. That is why I came here and settled down to work and started the village you now see. It was many years ago that I built the first houses, and I’ve kept pretty busy and made my village grow finely; and I need not tell you that I am very happy in my work.”

      “Many years ago!” exclaimed Aunt Em. “Why, how old are you, child?”

      “I never keep track of the years,” said Miss Cuttenclip, laughing. “You see, I don’t grow up at all, but stay just the same as I was when first I came here. Perhaps I’m older even than you are, madam; but I couldn’t say for sure.”

      They looked at the lovely little girl wonderingly, and the Wizard asked:

      “What happens to your paper village when it rains?”

      “It does not rain here,” replied Miss Cuttenclip. “Glinda keeps all the rain storms away; so I never worry about my dolls getting wet. But now, if you will come with me, it will give me pleasure to show you over my paper kingdom. Of course you must go slowly and carefully, and avoid making any breeze.”

      They left the cottage and followed their guide through the various streets of the village. It was indeed an amazing place, when one considered that it was all made with scissors, and the visitors were not only greatly interested but full of admiration for the skill of little Miss Cuttenclip.

      In one place a large group of especially nice paper dolls assembled to greet their Queen, whom it was easy to see they loved early. These dolls marched and danced before the visitors, and then they all waved their paper handkerchiefs and sang in a sweet chorus a song called “The Flag of Our Native Land.”

      At the conclusion of the song they ran up a handsome paper flag on a tall flagpole, and all of the people of the village gathered around to cheer as loudly as they could—although, of course, their voices were not especially strong.

      Miss Cuttenclip was about to make her subjects a speech in reply to this patriotic song, when the Shaggy Man happened to sneeze.

      He was a very loud and powerful sneezer at any time, and he had tried so hard to hold in this sneeze that when it suddenly exploded the result was terrible.

      The paper dolls were mowed down by dozens, and flew and fluttered in wild confusion in every direction, tumbling this way and that and getting more or less wrinkled and bent.

      A wail of terror and grief came from the scattered throng, and Miss Cuttenclip exclaimed:

      “Dear me! dear me!” and hurried at once to the rescue of her overturned people.

      “Oh, Shaggy Man! How could you?” asked Dorothy, reproachfully.

      “I couldn’t help it—really I couldn’t,” protested the Shaggy Man, looking quite ashamed. “And I had no idea it took so little to upset these paper dolls.”

      “So little!” said Dorothy. “Why, it was ‘most as bad as a Kansas cyclone.” And then she helped Miss Cuttenclip rescue the paper folk and stand them on their feet again. Two of the cardboard houses had also tumbled over, and the little Queen said she would have to repair them and paste them together before they could be lived in again.

      And now, fearing they might do more damage to the flimsy paper people, they decided to go away. But first they thanked Miss Cuttenclip very warmly for her courtesy and kindness to them.

      “Any friend of Princess Ozma is always welcome here—unless he sneezes,” said the Queen with a rather severe look at the Shaggy Man, who hung his head. “I like to have visitors admire my wonderful village, and I hope you will call again.”

      Miss Cuttenclip herself led them to the door in the wall, and as they passed along the street the paper dolls peeped at them half fearfully from the doors and windows. Perhaps they will never forget the Shaggy Man’s awful sneeze, and I am sure they were all glad to see the meat people go away.

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