Its saddle was made of cloth-of-gold richly encrusted with precious gems.

It had never worn a bridle.
As the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of travelers, he reined in his wooden steed and dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling nod.

Then he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl in wonder, while she in turn stared at him.
"Shags," he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man aside, "pat me into shape, there's a good fellow!" While his friend punched and patted the Scarecrow's body, to smooth out the humps, Scraps turned to Ojo and whispered: "Roll me out, please; I've sagged down dreadfully from walking so much and men like to see a stately figure." She then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled her back and forth like a rolling-pin, until the cotton had filled all the spaces in her patchwork covering and the body had lengthened to its fullest extent.
Scraps and the Scarecrow both finished their hasty toilets at the same time, and again they faced each other.
"Allow me, Miss Patchwork," said the Shaggy Man, "to present my friend, the Right Royal Scarecrow of Oz.

Scarecrow, this is Miss Scraps Patches; Scraps, this is the Scarecrow.

Scarecrow--Scraps; Scraps--Scarecrow." They both bowed with much dignity.
"Forgive me for staring so rudely," said the Scarecrow, "but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld." "That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful," murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head.