He was neatly made, all of tin, nicely soldered at
the joints, and his various limbs were cleverly hinged to his body so
that he could use them nearly as well as if they had been common
flesh. Once, he told the shaggy man, he had been made all of flesh
and bones, as other people are, and then he chopped wood in the
forests to earn his living. But the axe slipped so often and cut off
parts of him--which he had replaced with tin--that finally there was
no flesh left, nothing but tin; so he became a real tin woodman. The
wonderful Wizard of Oz had given him an excellent heart to replace his
old one, and he didn't at all mind being tin. Every one loved him, he
loved every one; and he was therefore as happy as the day was long.
The Emperor was proud of his new tin castle, and showed his visitors
through all the rooms. Every bit of the furniture was made of
brightly polished tin--the tables, chairs, beds, and all--even the
floors and walls were of tin.
"I suppose," said he, "that there are no cleverer tinsmiths in all the
world than the Winkies. It would be hard to match this castle in
Kansas; wouldn't it, little Dorothy?"
"Very hard," replied the child, gravely.
"It must have cost a lot of money," remarked the shaggy man.
"Money! Money in Oz!" cried the Tin Woodman. "What a queer idea!
Did you suppose we are so vulgar as to use money here?"
"Why not?" asked the shaggy man.
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