as they walked along a path. “If he could give a Scarecrow
brains, he might be able to find my dishpan.”

“Poof!” grunted the Frogman scornfully. “I am greater
than any wizard. Depend on ME. If your dishpan is anywhere
in the world, I am sure to find it.”

“If you do not, my heart will be broken,” declared the
Cookie Cook in a sorrowful voice.

For a while the Frogman walked on in silence. Then he
asked, “Why do you attach so much importance to a dishpan?”

“It is the greatest treasure I possess,” replied the woman.
“It belonged to my mother and to all my grandmothers since
the beginning of time. It is, I believe, the very oldest
thing in all the Yip Country—or was while it was there—and,”
she added, dropping her voice to an awed whisper, “it has
magic powers!”

“In what way?” inquired the Frogman, seeming to be
surprised at this statement.

“Whoever has owned that dishpan has been a good cook,
for one thing. No one else is able to make such good cookies
as I have cooked, as you and all the Yips know. Yet the
very morning after my dishpan was stolen, I tried to make
a batch of cookies and they burned up in the oven! I made
another batch that proved too tough to eat, and I was so
ashamed of them that I buried them in the ground. Even
the third batch of cookies, which I brought with me in
my basket, were pretty poor stuff and no better than any
woman could make who does not own my diamond-studded
gold dishpan. In fact, my good Frogman, Cayke the Cookie
Cook will never be able to cook good cookies again until
her magic dishpan is restored to her.”

“In that case,” said the Frogman with a sigh, “I suppose
we must manage to find it.”
CHAPTER 5

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