The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket.  So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased.

“My dears,” he said to them, “I’m afraid I’ve got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave.”

“What’s wrong?” asked a piglet.  “We’ve been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened.”

The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers.

“Well,” said another piglet, “you are a wizard, are you not?”

“I am,” replied the little man.

“Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole,” declared the tiny one, with much confidence.

“I could if I happened to be a real wizard,” returned the master sadly.  “But I’m not, my piggy-wees; I’m a humbug wizard.”

“Nonsense!” cried several of the piglets, together.

“You can ask Dorothy,” said the little man, in an injured tone.

“It’s true enough,” returned the girl, earnestly.  “Our friend Oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me.  He can do several very wonderful things—­if he knows how.  But he can’t wiz a single thing if he hasn’t the tools and machinery to work with.”

“Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice,” responded the Wizard, gratefully.  “To be accused of being a real wizard, when I’m not, is a slander I will not tamely submit to.  But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave.”

“I don’t believe we’ll realize anything, when it comes to that,” remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought.  “But I’m not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob’ly need yours, too.”

“We are helpless to escape,” sighed the Wizard.

“We may be helpless,” answered Dorothy, smiling at him, “but there are others who can do more than we can.  Cheer up, friends.  I’m sure Ozma will help us.”

“Ozma!” exclaimed the Wizard.  “Who is Ozma?”

“The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz,” was the reply.  “She’s a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and went to Oz with her.”

“For the second time?” asked the Wizard, with great interest.

“Yes.  The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City.  After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes.”

“I remember those shoes,” said the little man, nodding.  “They once belonged to the Wicked Witch.  Have you them here with you?”

“No; I lost them somewhere in the air,” explained the child.  “But the second time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King’s Magic Belt, which is much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes.”