The Wizard of Oz by Lynam Frank Baum Chapter 15 Page 13

nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that also from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil was poured upon it the ball burned fiercely.

“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for being such a humbug.”

“I am--I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it was the only thing I could do.

Sit down, please, there are plenty of chairs; and I will tell you my story.”

So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.

“I was born in Omaha--”