THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ

THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
by L. FRANK BAUM
Affectionately Dedicated to my young friend
Sumner Hamilton Britton of Chicago
Prologue
Through the kindness of Dorothy Gale of Kansas,
afterward Princess Dorothy of Oz, an humble writer
in the United States of America was once appointed
Royal Historian of Oz, with the privilege of
writing the chronicle of that wonderful fairyland.
But after making six books about the adventures of
those interesting but queer people who live in the
Land of Oz, the Historian learned with sorrow that
by an edict of the Supreme Ruler, Ozma of Oz, her
country would thereafter be rendered invisible to
all who lived outside its borders and that all
communication with Oz would, in the future, be cut off.
The children who had learned to look for the
books about Oz and who loved the stories about the
gay and happy people inhabiting that favored
country, were as sorry as their Historian that
there would be no more books of Oz stories. They
wrote many letters asking if the Historian did not
know of some adventures to write about that had
happened before the Land of Oz was shut out from
all the rest of the world. But he did not know of
any. Finally one of the children inquired why we
couldn't hear from Princess Dorothy by wireless
telegraph, which would enable her to communicate
to the Historian whatever happened in the far-off
Land of Oz without his seeing her, or even knowing
just where Oz is.
That seemed a good idea; so the Historian rigged
up a high tower in his back yard, and took lessons
in wireless telegraphy until he understood it,
and then began to call "Princess Dorothy of Oz" by
sending messages into the air.
Now, it wasn't likely that Dorothy would be
looking for wireless messages or would heed the
call; but one thing the Historian was sure of, and
that was that the powerful Sorceress, Glinda,
would know what he was doing and that he desired
to communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a big
book in which is recorded every event that takes
place anywhere in the world, just the moment that
it happens, and so of course the book would tell
her about the wireless message.
And that was the way Dorothy heard that the
Historian wanted to speak with her, and there was
a Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how to
telegraph a wireless reply. The result was that
the Historian begged so hard to be told the latest
news of Oz, so that he could write it down for the
children to read, that Dorothy asked permission of
Ozma and Ozma graciously consented.
That is why, after two long years of waiting,
another Oz story is now presented to the children
of America. This would not have been possible had
not some clever man invented the "wireless" and an
equally clever child suggested the idea of
reaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its means.
L. Frank Baum.
"OZCOT"
at Hollywood
in California
LIST OF CHAPTERS
1 - Ojo and Unc Nunkie
2 - The Crooked Magician
3 - The Patchwork Girl
4 - The Glass Cat
5 - A Terrible Accident
6 - The Journey
7 - The Troublesome Phonograph
8 - The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey
9 - They Meet the Woozy
10 - Shaggy Man to the Rescue
11 - A Good Friend
12 - The Giant Porcupine
13 - Scraps and the Scarecrow
14 - Ojo Breaks the Law
15 - Ozma's Prisoner
16 - Princess Dorothy
17 - Ozma and Her Friends
18 - Ojo is Forgiven
19 - Trouble with the Tottenhots
20 - The Captive Yoop
21 - Hip Hopper the Champion
22 - The Joking Horners
23 - Peace is Declared
24 - Ojo Finds the Dark Well
25 - They Bribe the Lazy Quadling
26 - The Trick River
27 - The Tin Woodman Objects
28 - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
The Patchwork Girl of Oz
Chapter One
Ojo and Unc Nunkie
"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?" asked Ojo.
Unc looked out of the window and stroked his
long beard. Then he turned to the Munchkin boy and
shook his head.
"Isn't," said he.
"Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's
the jam then?" inquired Ojo, standing on a stool
so he could look through all the shelves of the
cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again.
"Gone," he said.
"No jam, either? And no cake--no jelly--no
apples--nothing but bread?"
"All," said Unc, again stroking his beard as he
gazed from the window.
The little boy brought the stool and sat beside
his uncle, munching the dry bread slowly and
seeming in deep thought.
"Nothing grows in our yard but the bread
tree," he mused, "and there are only two more
loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell
me, Unc; why are we so poor?"
The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He
had kindly eyes, but he hadn't smiled or laughed
in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc
Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And
Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged
to, so his little nephew, who lived alone with
him, had learned to understand a great deal from
one word.
"Why are we so poor, Unc?" repeated the boy.
"Not," said the old Munchkin.
"I think we are," declared Ojo. "What have we
got?"
"House," said Unc Nunkie.
"I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz
has a place to live. What else, Unc?"
"Bread."
"I'm eating the last loaf that's ripe. There;
I've put aside your share, Unc. It's on the table,
so you can eat it when you get hungry. But when
that is gone, what shall we eat, Unc?"
The old man shifted in his chair but merely
shook his head.
"Of course," said Ojo, who was obliged to talk
because his uncle would not, "no one starves in
the Land of Oz, either. There is plenty for
everyone, you know; only, if it isn't just where
you happen to be, you must go where it is."
The aged Munchkin wriggled again and stared at
his small nephew as if disturbed by his argument.
"By to-morrow morning," the boy went on, "we must
go where there is something to eat, or we shall
grow very hungry and become very unhappy."
"Where?" asked Unc.
"Where shall we go? I don't know, I'm sure,"
replied Ojo. "But you must know, Unc. You must
have traveled, in your time, because you're so
old. I don't remember it, because ever since I
could remember anything we've lived right here in
this lonesome, round house, with a little garden
back of it and the thick woods all around. All
I've ever seen of the great Land of Oz, Unc dear,
is the view of that mountain over at the south,
where they say the Hammerheads live--who won't let
anybody go by them--and that mountain at the
north, where they say nobody lives."
"One," declared Unc, correcting him.
"Oh, yes; one family lives there, I've heard.
That's the Crooked Magician, who is named
Dr. Pipt, and his wife Margolotte. One year you
told me about them; I think it took you a whole
year, Unc, to say as much as I've just said about
the Crooked Magician and his wife. They live
high up on the mountain, and the good Munchkin
Country, where the fruits and flowers grow, is
just the other side. It's funny you and I should
live here all alone, in the middle of the forest,
isn't it?"
"Yes," said Unc.
"Then let's go away and visit the Munchkin
Country and its jolly, good-natured people. I'd
love to get a sight of something besides woods,
Unc Nunkie."
"Too little," said Unc.
"Why, I'm not so little as I used to be,"
answered the boy earnestly. "I think I can walk
as far and as fast through the woods as you
can, Unc. And now that nothing grows in our
back yard that is good to eat, we must go where
there is food."
Unc Nunkie made no reply for a time. Then
he shut down the window and turned his chair
to face the room, for the sun was sinking behind
the tree-tops and it was growing cool.
By and by Ojo lighted the fire and the logs
blazed freely in the broad fireplace. The two sat
in the firelight a long time--the old, whitebearded
Munchkin and the little boy. Both were
thinking. When it grew quite dark outside, Ojo
said:
"Eat your bread, Unc, and then we will go to
bed."
But Unc Nunkie did not eat the bread; neither
did he go directly to bed. Long after his little
nephew was sound asleep in the corner of the room
the old man sat by the fire, thinking.
Chapter Two
The Crooked Magician
Just at dawn next morning Unc Nunkie laid his hand
tenderly on Ojo's head and awakened him.
"Come," he said.
Ojo dressed. He wore blue silk stockings, blue
knee pants with gold buckles, a blue ruffled
waist and a jacket of bright blue braided with
gold. His shoes were of blue leather and turned up
at the toes, which were pointed. His hat had a
peaked crown and a flat brim, and around the brim
was a row of tiny golden bells that tinkled when
he moved. This was the native costume of those
who inhabited the Munchkin Country of the Land of
Oz, so Unc Nunkie's dress was much like that of
his nephew. Instead of shoes, the old man wore
boots with turnover tops and his blue coat had
wide cuffs of gold braid.
The boy noticed that his uncle had not eaten
the bread, and supposed the old man had not
been hungry. Ojo was hungry, though; so he
divided the piece of bread upon the table and
ate his half for breakfast, washing it down with
fresh, cool water from the brook. Unc put the
other piece of bread in his jacket pocket, after
which he again said, as he walked out through
the doorway: "Come."
Ojo was well pleased. He was dreadfully
tired of living all alone in the woods and wanted
to travel and see people. For a long time he had
wished to explore the beautiful Land of Oz
in which they lived. When they were outside,
Unc simply latched the door and started up the
path. No one would disturb their little house,
even if anyone came so far into the thick forest
while they were gone.
At the foot of the mountain that separated the
Country of the Munchkins from the Country of the
Gillikins, the path divided. One way led to the
left and the other to the right--straight up the
mountain. Unc Nunkie took this right-hand path and
Ojo followed without asking why. He knew it would
take them to the house of the Crooked Magician,
whom he had never seen but who was their nearest
neighbor.
All the morning they trudged up the mountain path
and at noon Unc and Ojo sat on a fallen tree-trunk
and ate the last of the bread which the old
Munchkin had placed in his pocket. Then they
started on again and two hours later came in sight
of the house of Dr. Pipt.
It was a big house, round, as were all the
Munchkin houses, and painted blue, which is the
distinctive color of the Munchkin Country of Oz.
There was a pretty garden around the house, where
blue trees and blue flowers grew in abundance and
in one place were beds of blue cabbages, blue
carrots and blue lettuce, all of which were
delicious to eat. In Dr. Pipt's garden grew buntrees,
cake-trees, cream-puff bushes, blue
buttercups which yielded excellent blue butter and
a row of chocolate-caramel plants. Paths of blue
gravel divided the vegetable and flower beds and a
wider path led up to the front door. The place was
in a clearing on the mountain, but a little way
off was the grim forest, which completely
surrounded it.
Unc knocked at the door of the house and
a chubby, pleasant-faced woman, dressed all in
blue, opened it and greeted the visitors with a
smile.
"Ah," said Ojo; "you must be Dame Margolotte,
the good wife of Dr. Pipt."
"I am, my dear, and all strangers are welcome
to my home."
"May we see the famous Magician, Madam?"
"He is very busy just now," she said, shaking
her head doubtfully. "But come in and let me
give you something to eat, for you must have
traveled far in order to get our lonely place."
"We have," replied Ojo, as he and Unc entered
the house. "We have come from a far lonelier place
than this."
"A lonelier place! And in the Munchkin Country?"
she exclaimed. "Then it must be somewhere in the
Blue Forest."
"It is, good Dame Margolotte."
"Dear me!" she said, looking at the man, "you
must be Unc Nunkie, known as the Silent One." Then
she looked at the boy. "And you must be Ojo the
Unlucky," she added.
"Yes," said Unc.
"I never knew I was called the Unlucky,"
said Ojo, soberly; "but it is really a good name
for me."
"Well," remarked the woman, as she bustled
around the room and set the table and brought food
from the cupboard, "you were unlucky to live all
alone in that dismal forest, which is much worse
than the forest around here; but perhaps your luck
will change, now you are away from it. If, during
your travels, you can manage to lose that 'Un' at
the beginning of your name 'Unlucky,' you will
then become Ojo the Lucky, which will be a great
improvement."
"How can I lose that 'Un,' Dame Margolotte?"
"I do not know how, but you must keep the
matter in mind and perhaps the chance will
come to you," she replied.
Ojo had never eaten such a fine meal in all
his life. There was a savory stew, smoking hot,
a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of a
delicate blue tint and a blue pudding with blue
plums in it. When the visitors had eaten heartily
of this fare the woman said to them:
"Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or
for pleasure?"
Unc shook his head.
"We are traveling," replied Ojo, "and we
stopped at your house just to rest and refresh
ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares
very much to see the famous Crooked Magician;
but for my part I am curious to look at such
a great man."
The woman seemed thoughtful.
"I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used
to be friends, many years ago," she said, "so
perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The
Magician is very busy, as I said, but if you will
promise not to disturb him you may come into his
workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful charm."
"Thank you," replied the boy, much pleased.
"I would like to do that."
She led the way to a great domed hall at the
back of the house, which was the Magician's
workshop. There was a row of windows extending
nearly around the sides of the circular room,
which rendered the place very light, and there was
a back door in addition to the one leading to the
front part of the house. Before the row of windows
a broad seat was built and there were some chairs
and benches in the room besides. At one end stood
a great fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing
with a blue flame, and over the fire hung four
kettles in a row, all bubbling and steaming at a
great rate. The Magician was stirring all four of
these kettles at the same time, two with his
hands and two with his feet, to the latter, wooden
ladles being strapped, for this man was so very
crooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.
Unc Nunkie came forward to greet his old
friend, but not being able to shake either his
hands or his feet, which were all occupied in
stirring, he patted the Magician's bald head and
asked: "What?"
"Ah, it's the Silent One," remarked Dr. Pipt,
without looking up, "and he wants to know
what I'm making. Well, when it is quite finished
this compound will be the wonderful Powder
of Life, which no one knows how to make but
myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything,
that thing will at once come to life, no matter
what it is. It takes me several years to make this
magic Powder, but at this moment I am pleased
to say it is nearly done. You see, I am making it
for my good wife Margolotte, who wants to use
some of it for a purpose of her own. Sit down
and make yourself comfortable, Unc Nunkie,
and after I've finished my task I will talk to
you."
"You must know," said Margolottte, when they
were all seated together on the broad window-seat,
"that my husband foolishly gave away all the
Powder of Life he first made to old Mombi the
Witch, who used to live in the Country of the
Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to Dr.
Pipt a Powder of Perpetual Youth in exchange for
his Powder of Life, but she cheated him wickedly,
for the Powder of Youth was no good and could work
no magic at all."
"Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn't either,"
said Ojo.
"Yes; it is perfection," she declared. "The first
lot we tested on our Glass Cat, which not only
began to live but has lived ever since. She's
somewhere around the house now."
"A Glass Cat!" exclaimed Ojo, astonished.
"Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but
admires herself a little more than is considered
modest, and she positively refuses to catch mice,"
explained Margolotte. "My husband made the cat
some pink brains, but they proved to be too highbred
and particular for a cat, so she thinks it is
undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a
pretty blood-red heart, but it is made of stone--a
ruby, I think--and so is rather hard and unfeeling.
I think the next Glass Cat the Magician makes will
have neither brains nor heart, for then it will
not object to catching mice and may prove of some
use to us."
"What did old Mombi the Witch do with the
Powder of Life your husband gave her?" asked
the boy.
"She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for
one thing," was the reply. "I suppose you've
heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living
near the Emerald City and is a great favorite
with the Princess Ozma, who rules all the Land
of Oz."
"No; I've never heard of him," remarked
Ojo. "I'm afraid I don't know much about the
Land of Oz. You see, I've lived all my life with
Unc Nunkie, the Silent One, and there was no
one to tell me anything."
"That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky,"
said the woman, in a sympathetic tone. "The more
one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge is the
greatest gift in life."
"But tell me, please, what you intend to do
with this new lot of the Powder of Life, which
Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it
for some especial purpose."
"So I do," she answered. "I want it to bring
my Patchwork Girl to life."
"Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?" Ojo
asked, for this seemed even more strange and
unusual than a Glass Cat.
"I think I must show you my Patchwork
Girl," said Margolotte, laughing at the boy's
astonishment, "for she is rather difficult to
explain. But first I will tell you that for many
years I have longed for a servant to help me with
the housework and to cook the meals and wash the
dishes. No servant will come here because the
place is so lonely and out-of-the-way, so my
clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed
that I make a girl out of some sort of material
and he would make her live by sprinkling over her
the Powder of Life. This seemed an excellent
suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to
make a new batch of his magic powder. He has been
at it a long, long while, and so I have had plenty
of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so
easy as you may suppose. At first I couldn't think
what to make her of, but finally in searching
through a chest I came across an old patchwork
quilt, which my grandmother once made when she was
young."
"What is a patchwork quilt?" asked Ojo.
"A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds
and colors of cloth, all neatly sewed together.
The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so a
patchwork quilt is a very pretty and gorgeous
thing to look at. Sometimes it is called a
'crazy-quilt,' because the patches and colors are
so mixed up. We never have used my grandmother's
many-colored patchwork quilt, handsome as it is,
for we Munchkins do not care for any color other
than blue, so it has been packed away in the chest
for about a hundred years. When I found it, I said
to myself that it would do nicely for my servant
girl, for when she was brought to life she would
not be proud nor haughty, as the Glass Cat is, for
such a dreadful mixture of colors would discourage
her from trying to be as dignified as the blue
Munchkins are."
"Is blue the only respectable color, then?"
inquired Ojo.
"Yes, for a Munchkin. All our country is blue,
you know. But in other parts of Oz the people
favor different colors. At the Emerald City,
where our Princess Ozma lives, green is the
popular color. But all Munchkins prefer blue
to anything else and when my housework girl
is brought to life she will find herself to be of
so many unpopular colors that she'll never dare
be rebellious or impudent, as servants are
sometimes liable to be when they are made the same
way their mistresses are."
Unc Nunkie nodded approval.
"Good i-dea," he said; and that was a long
speech for Unc Nunkie because it was two
words.
"So I cut up the quilt," continued Margolotte,
"and made from it a very well-shaped girl,
which I stuffed with cotton-wadding. I will
show you what a good job I did," and she went
to a tall cupboard and threw open the doors.
Then back she came, lugging in her arms the
Patchwork Girl, which she set upon the bench
and propped up so that the figure would not
tumble over.
Chapter Three
The Patchwork Girl
Ojo examined this curious contrivance with wonder.
The Patchwork Girl was taller than he, when she
stood upright, and her body was plump and rounded
because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton.
Margolotte had first made the girl's form from the
patchwork quilt and then she had dressed it with a
patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in it--
using the same gay material throughout. Upon the
feet she had sewn a pair of red leather shoes with
pointed toes. All the fingers and thumbs of the
girl's hands had been carefully formed and stuffed
and stitched at the edges, with gold plates at the
ends to serve as finger-nails.
"She will have to work, when she comes to
life," said Marglotte.
The head of the Patchwork Girl was the most
curious part of her. While she waited for her
husband to finish making his Powder of Life the
woman had found ample time to complete the head as
her fancy dictated, and she realized that a good
servant's head must be properly constructed. The
hair was of brown yarn and hung down on her neck
in several neat braids. Her eyes were two silver
suspender-buttons cut from a pair of the
Magician's old trousers, and they were sewed on
with black threads, which formed the pupils of the
eyes. Margolotte had puzzled over the ears for
some time, for these were important if the servant
was to hear distinctly, but finally she had made
them out of thin plates of gold and attached them
in place by means of stitches through tiny holes
bored in the metal. Gold is the most common metal
in the Land of Oz and is used for many purposes
because it is soft and pliable.
The woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork
Girl's mouth and sewn two rows of white pearls
in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush for
a tongue. This mouth Ojo considered very artistic
and lifelike, and Margolotte was pleased when the
boy praised it. There were almost too many patches
on the face of the girl for her to be considered
strictly beautiful, for one cheek was yellow and
the other red, her chin blue, her forehead purple
and the center, where her nose had been formed and
padded, a bright yellow.
"You ought to have had her face all pink,"
suggested the boy.
"I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth," replied
the woman. "Still, I cannot see as it matters
much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be useful
rather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at
her patched face I can whitewash it."
"Has she any brains?" asked Ojo.
"No; I forgot all about the brains!" exclaimed
the woman. "I am glad you reminded me of
them, for it is not too late to supply them, by
any means. Until she is brought to life I can
do anything I please with this girl. But I must
be careful not to give her too much brains, and
those she has must be such as are fitted to the
station she is to occupy in life. In other words,
her brains mustn't be very good."
"Wrong," said Unc Nunkie.
"No; I am sure I am right about that," returned
the woman.
"He means," explained Ojo, "that unless your
servant has good brains she won't know how to obey
you properly, nor do the things you ask her to
do."
"Well, that may be true," agreed Margolotte;
"but, on the contrary, a servant with too much
brains is sure to become independent and highand-
mighty and feel above her work. This is a
very delicate task, as I said, and I must take
care to give the girl just the right quantity of
the right sort of brains. I want her to know just
enough, but not too much."
With this she went to another cupboard which was
filled with shelves. All the shelves were lined
with blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by the
Magician to show what they contained. One whole
shelf was marked: "Brain Furniture," and the
bottles on this shelf were labeled as follows:
"Obedience," "Cleverness," "Judgment," "Courage,"
"Ingenuity," "Amiability," "Learning," "Truth,"
"Poesy," "Self Reliance."
"Let me see," said Margolotte; "of those
qualities she must have 'Obedience' first of all,"
and she took down the bottle bearing that label
and poured from it upon a dish several grains of
the contents. "'Amiability' is also good and
'Truth.'" She poured into the dish a quantity from
each of these bottles. "I think that will do," she
continued, "for the other qualities are not needed
in a servant."
Unc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her,
touched the bottle marked "Cleverness."
"Little," said he.
"A little 'Cleverness'? Well, perhaps you are
right, sir," said she, and was about to take down
the bottle when the Crooked Magician suddenly
called to her excitedly from the fireplace.
"Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me."
She ran to her husband's side at once and
helped him lift the four kettles from the fire.
Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in
the bottom of each kettle a few grains of fine
white powder. Very carefully the Magician removed
this powder, placing it all together in a golden
dish, where he mixed it with a golden spoon. When
the mixture was complete there was scarcely a
handful, all told.
"That," said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and
triumphant tone, "is the wonderful Powder of Life,
which I alone in the world know how to make. It
has taken me nearly six years to prepare these
precious grains of dust, but the little heap on
that dish is worth the price of a kingdom and many
a king would give all he has to possess it. When
it has become cooled I will place it in a small
bottle; but meantime I must watch it carefully,
lest a gust of wind blow it away or scatter it."
Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician
all stood looking at the marvelous Powder, but
Ojo was more interested just then in the Patchwork
Girl's brains. Thinking it both unfair and unkind
to deprive her of any good qualities that were
handy, the boy took down every bottle on the shelf
and poured some of the contents in Margolotte's
dish. No one saw him do this, for all were looking
at the Powder of Life; but soon the woman
remembered what she had been doing, and came back
to the cupboard.
"Let's see," she remarked; "I was about to give
my girl a little 'Cleverness,' which is the
Doctor's substitute for 'Intelligence'--a quality
he has not yet learned how to manufacture." Taking
down the bottle of "Cleverness" she added some of
the powder to the heap on the dish. Ojo became a
bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite
a lot of the "Cleverness" powder in the dish; but
he dared not interfere and so he comforted himself
with the thought that one cannot have too much
cleverness.
Margolotte now carried the dish of brains to
the bench. Ripping the seam of the patch on
the girl's forehead, she placed the powder within
the head and then sewed up the seam as neatly
and securely as before.
"My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life,
my dear," she said to her husband. But the
Magician replied:
"This powder must not be used before to-morrow
morning; but I think it is now cool enough to be
bottled."
He selected a small gold bottle with a pepperbox
top, so that the powder might be sprinkled on
any object through the small holes. Very carefully
he placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle
and then locked it up in a drawer of his cabinet.
"At last," said he, rubbing his hands together
gleefully, "I have ample leisure for a good talk
with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit
down cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring
those four kettles for six years I am glad to
have a little rest."
"You will have to do most of the talking,"
said Ojo, "for Unc is called the Silent One and
uses few words."
"I know; but that renders your uncle a
most agreeable companion and gossip," declared
Dr. Pipt. "Most people talk too much, so it is
a relief to find one who talks too little."
Ojo looked at the Magician with much awe
and curiosity.
"Don't you find it very annoying to be so
crooked?" he asked.
"No; I am quite proud of my person," was
the reply. "I suppose I am the only Crooked
Magician in all the world. Some others are accused
of being crooked, but I am the only genuine."
He was really very crooked and Ojo wondered how
he managed to do so many things with such a
twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked
chair that had been made to fit him, one knee was
under his chin and the other near the small of his
back; but he was a cheerful man and his face bore
a pleasant and agreeable expression.
"I am not allowed to perform magic, except
for my own amusement," he told his visitors,
as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem and
began to smoke. "Too many people were working
magic in the Land of Oz, and so our lovely
Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was
quite right. There were several wicked Witches who
caused a lot of trouble; but now they are all out
of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda
the Good, is permitted to practice her arts, which
never harm anybody. The Wizard of Oz, who used to
be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has been
taking lessons of Glinda, and I'm told he is
getting to be a pretty good Wizard; but he is
merely the assistant of the great Sorceress. I've
the right to make a servant girl for my wife, you
know, or a Glass Cat to catch our mice--which she
refuses to do--but I am forbidden to work magic for
others, or to use it as a profession."
"Magic must be a very interesting study,"
said Ojo.
"It truly is," asserted the Magician. "In my
time I've performed some magical feats that were
worthy of the skill of Glinda the Good. For
instance, there's the Powder of Life, and my
Liquid of Petrifaction, which is contained in that
bottle on the shelf yonder--over the window."
"What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?"
inquired the boy.
"Turns everything it touches to solid marble.
It's an invention of my own, and I find it very
useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs,
with bodies like bears and heads like tigers,
came here from the forest to attack us; but I
sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and
instantly they turned to marble. I now use them
as ornamental statuary in my garden. This table
looks to you like wood, and once it really was
wood; but I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid
of Petrifaction on it and now it is marble. It
will never break nor wear out."
"Fine!" said Unc Nunkie, wagging his head
and stroking his long gray beard.
"Dear me; what a chatterbox you're getting
to be, Unc," remarked the Magician, who was
pleased with the compliment. But just then
there came a scratching at the back door and a
shrill voice cried:
"Let me in! Hurry up, can't you? Let me in!"
Margolotte got up and went to the door.
"Ask like a good cat, then," she said.
"Mee-ee-ow-w-w! There; does that suit your
royal highness?" asked the voice, in scornful
accents.
"Yes; that's proper cat talk," declared the
woman, and opened the door.
At once a cat entered, came to the center of the
room and stopped short at the sight of strangers.
Ojo and Unc Nunkie both stared at it with wide
open eyes, for surely no such curious creature had
ever existed before--even in the Land of Oz.
Chapter Four
The Glass Cat
The cat was made of glass, so clear and
transparent that you could see through it as
easily as through a window. In the top of its
head, however, was a mass of delicate pink balls
which looked like jewels, and it had a heart made
of a blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large
emeralds, but aside from these colors all the rest
of the animal was clear glass, and it had a spunglass
tail that was really beautiful.
"Well, Doc Pipt, do you mean to introduce us, or
not?" demanded the cat, in a tone of annoyance.
"Seems to me you are forgetting your manners."
"Excuse me," returned the Magician. "This
is Unc Nunkie, the descendant of the former
kings of the Munchkins, before this country
became a part of the Land of Oz."
"He needs a haircut," observed the cat,
washing its face.
"True," replied Unc, with a low chuckle of
amusement.
"But he has lived alone in the heart of the
forest for many years," the Magician explained;
"and, although that is a barbarous country,
there are no barbers there."
"Who is the dwarf?" asked the cat.
"That is not a dwarf, but a boy," answered
the Magician. "You have never seen a boy before.
He is now small because he is young. With more
years he will grow big and become as tall as Unc
Nunkie."
"Oh. Is that magic?" the glass animal inquired.
"Yes; but it is Nature's magic, which is more
wonderful than any art known to man. For
instance, my magic made you, and made you
live; and it was a poor job because you are
useless and a bother to me; but I can't make you
grow. You will always be the same size--and
the same saucy, inconsiderate Glass Cat, with
pink brains and a hard ruby heart."
"No one can regret more than I the fact that you
made me," asserted the cat, crouching upon the
floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass tail from
side to side. "Your world is a very uninteresting
place. I've wandered through your gardens and in
the forest until I'm tired of it all, and when I
come into the house the conversation of your fat
wife and of yourself bores me dreadfully."
"That is because I gave you different brains
from those we ourselves possess--and much too
good for a cat," returned Dr. Pipt.
"Can't you take 'em out, then, and replace
'em with pebbles, so that I won't feel above my
station in life?" asked the cat, pleadingly.
"Perhaps so. I'll try it, after I've brought the
Patchwork Girl to life," he said.
The cat walked up to the bench on which
the Patchwork Girl reclined and looked at her
attentively.
"Are you going to make that dreadful thing
live?" she asked.
The Magician nodded.
"It is intended to be my wife's servant maid,"
he said. "When she is alive she will do all our
work and mind the house. But you are not to
order her around, Bungle, as you do us. You
must treat the Patchwork Girl respectfully."
"I won't. I couldn't respect such a bundle
of scraps under any circumstances."
"If you don't, there will be more scraps than
you will like," cried Margolotte, angrily.
"Why didn't you make her pretty to look at?"
asked the cat. "You made me pretty--very pretty,
indeed--and I love to watch my pink brains roll
around when they're working, and to see my
precious red heart beat." She went to a long
mirror, as she said this, and stood before it,
looking at herself with an air of much pride.
"But that poor patched thing will hate herself,
when she's once alive," continued the cat. "If
I were you I'd use her for a mop, and make
another servant that is prettier."
"You have a perverted taste," snapped
Margolotte, much annoyed at this frank criticism.
"I think the Patchwork Girl is beautiful,
considering what she's made of. Even the rainbow
hasn't as many colors, and you must admit that the
rainbow is a pretty thing."
The Glass Cat yawned and stretched herself
upon the floor.
"Have your own way," she said. "I'm sorry
for the Patchwork Girl, that's all."
Ojo and Unc Nunkie slept that night in the
Magician's house, and the boy was glad to stay
because he was anxious to see the Patchwork
Girl brought to life. The Glass Cat was also a
wonderful creature to little Ojo, who had never
seen or known anything of magic before, although
he had lived in the Fairyland of Oz ever since he
was born. Back there in the woods nothing unusual
ever happened. Unc Nunkie, who might have been
King of the Munchkins, had not his people united
with all the other countries of Oz in
acknowledging Ozma as their sole ruler, had
retired into this forgotten forest nook with his
baby nephew and they had lived all alone there.
Only that the neglected garden had failed to grow
food for them, they would always have lived in the
solitary Blue Forest; but now they had started out
to mingle with other people, and the first place
they came to proved so interesting that Ojo could
scarcely sleep a wink all night.
Margolotte was an excellent cook and gave
them a fine breakfast. While they were all engaged
in eating, the good woman said:
"This is the last meal I shall have to cook
for some time, for right after breakfast Dr. Pipt
has promised to bring my new servant to life.
I shall let her wash the breakfast dishes and
sweep and dust the house. What a relief it
will be!"
"It will, indeed, relieve you of much drudgery,"
said the Magician. "By the way, Margolotte, I
thought I saw you getting some brains from the
cupboard, while I was busy with my kettles. What
qualities have you given your new servant?"
"Only those that an humble servant requires,"
she answered. "I do not wish her to feel above
her station, as the Glass Cat does. That would
make her discontented and unhappy, for of
course she must always be a servant."
Ojo was somewhat disturbed as he listened to
this, and the boy began to fear he had done wrong
in adding all those different qualities of brains
to the lot Margolotte had prepared for the
servant. But it was too late now for regret, since
all the brains were securely sewn up inside the
Patchwork Girl's head. He might have confessed
what he had done and thus allowed Margolotte and
her husband to change the brains; but he was
afraid of incurring their anger. He believed that
Unc had seen him add to the brains, and Unc had
not said a word against it; but then, Unc never
did say anything unless it was absolutely
necessary.
As soon as breakfast was over they all went
into the Magician's big workshop, where the
Glass Cat was lying before the mirror and the
Patchwork Girl lay limp and lifeless upon the
bench.
"Now, then," said Dr. Pipt, in a brisk tone,
"we shall perform one of the greatest feats of
magic possible to man, even in this marvelous
Land of Oz. In no other country could it be
done at all. I think we ought to have a little
music while the Patchwork Girl comes to life.
It is pleasant to reflect that the first sounds her
golden ears will hear will be delicious music."
As he spoke he went to a phonograph, which
screwed fast to a small table, and wound up
the spring of the instrument and adjusted the
big gold horn.
"The music my servant will usually hear,"
remarked Margolotte, "will be my orders to do
her work. But I see no harm in allowing her to
listen to this unseen band while she wakens to
her first realization of life. My orders will beat
the band, afterward."
The phonograph was now playing a stirring
march tune and the Magician unlocked his
cabinet and took out the gold bottle containing
the Powder of Life.
They all bent over the bench on which the
Patchwork Girl reclined. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte
stood behind, near the windows, Ojo at one side
and the Magician in front, where he would have
freedom to sprinkle the powder. The Glass Cat came
near, too, curious to watch the important scene.
"All ready?" asked Dr. Pipt.
"All is ready," answered his wife.
So the Magician leaned over and shook from
the bottle some grains of the wonderful Powder,
and they fell directly on the Patchwork Girl's
head and arms.
Chapter Five
A Terrible Accident
"It will take a few minutes for this powder to
do its work," remarked the Magician, sprinkling
the body up and down with much care.
But suddenly the Patchwork Girl threw up one
arm, which knocked the bottle of powder from the
crooked man's hand and sent it flying across the
room. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte were so startled
that they both leaped backward and bumped
together, and Unc's head joggled the shelf above
them and upset the bottle containing the Liquid of
Petrifaction.
The Magician uttered such a wild cry that Ojo
jumped away and the Patchwork Girl sprang after
him and clasped her stuffed arms around him in
terror. The Glass Cat snarled and hid under the
table, and so it was that when the powerful Liquid
of Petrifaction was spilled it fell only upon the
wife of the Magician and the uncle of Ojo. With
these two the charm worked promptly. They stood
motionless and stiff as marble statues, in exactly
the positions they were in when the Liquid struck
them.
Ojo pushed the Patchwork Girl away and
ran to Unc Nunkie, filled with a terrible fear
for the only friend and protector he had ever
known. When he grasped Unc's hand it was
cold and hard. Even the long gray beard was
solid marble. The Crooked Magician was
dancing around the room in a frenzy of despair,
calling upon his wife to forgive him, to speak
to him, to come to life again!
The Patchwork Girl, quickly recovering from her
fright, now came nearer and looked from one to
another of the people with deep interest. Then she
looked at herself and laughed. Noticing the
mirror, she stood before it and examined her
extraordinary features with amazement--her button
eyes, pearl bead teeth and puffy nose. Then,
addressing her reflection in the glass, she exclaimed:
"Whee, but there's a gaudy dame!
Makes a paint-box blush with shame.
Razzle-dazzle, fizzle-fazzle!
Howdy-do, Miss What's-your-name?"
She bowed, and the reflection bowed. Then
she laughed again, long and merrily, and the
Glass Cat crept out from under the table and said:
"I don't blame you for laughing at yourself.
Aren't you horrid?"
"Horrid?" she replied. "Why, I'm thoroughly
delightful. I'm an Original, if you please, and
therefore incomparable. Of all the comic, absurd,
rare and amusing creatures the world contains, I
must be the supreme freak. Who but poor Margolotte
could have managed to invent such an unreasonable
being as I? But I'm glad--I'm awfully glad!--that
I'm just what I am, and nothing else."
"Be quiet, will you?" cried the frantic
Magician; "be quiet and let me think! If I don't
think I shall go mad."
"Think ahead," said the Patchwork Girl, seating
herself in a chair. "Think all you want to. I
don't mind."
"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune," called
the phonograph, speaking through its horn in
a brazen, scratchy voice. "If you don't mind,
Pipt, old boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest."
The Magician looked gloomily at the musicmachine.
"What dreadful luck!" he wailed, despondently.
"The Powder of Life must have fallen on the
phonograph."
He went up to it and found that the gold bottle
that contained the precious powder had dropped
upon the stand and scattered its life-giving
grains over the machine. The phonograph was very
much alive, and began dancing a jig with the legs
of the table to which it was attached, and this
dance so annoyed Dr. Pipt that he kicked the thing
into a corner and pushed a bench against it, to
hold it quiet.
"You were bad enough before," said the Magician,
resentfully; "but a live phonograph is enough to
drive every sane person in the Land of Oz stark
crazy."
"No insults, please," answered the phonograph in
a surly tone. "You did it, my boy; don't blame
me."
"You've bungled everything, Dr. Pipt," added
the Glass Cat, contemptuously.
"Except me," said the Patchwork Girl, jumping up
to whirl merrily around the room.
"I think," said Ojo, almost ready to cry
through grief over Unc Nunkie's sad fate, "it
must all be my fault, in some way. I'm called
Ojo the Unlucky, you know."
"That's nonsense, kiddie," retorted the
Patchwork Girl cheerfully. "No one can be unlucky
who has the intelligence to direct his own
actions. The unlucky ones are those who beg for a
chance to think, like poor Dr. Pipt here. What's
the row about, anyway, Mr. Magic-maker?"
"The Liquid of Petrifaction has accidentally
fallen upon my dear wife and Unc Nunkie and
turned them into marble," he sadly replied.
"Well, why don't you sprinkle some of that
powder on them and bring them to life again?"
asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician gave a jump.
"Why, I hadn't thought of that!" he joyfully
cried, and grabbed up the golden bottle, with
which he ran to Margolotte.
Said the Patchwork Girl:
"Higgledy, piggledy, dee--
What fools magicians be!
His head's so thick
He can't think quick,
So he takes advice from me."
Standing upon the bench, for he was so
crooked he could not reach the top of his wife's
head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking
the bottle. But not a grain of powder came out.
He pulled off the cover, glanced within, and
then threw the bottle from him with a wail of
despair.
"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried.
"Wasted on that miserable phonograph when
it might have saved my dear wife!"
Then the Magician bowed his head on his
crooked arms and began to cry.
Ojo was sorry for him. He went up to the
sorrowful man and said softly:
"You can make more Powder of Life, Dr. Pipt."
"Yes; but it will take me six years--six long,
weary years of stirring four kettles with both
feet and both hands," was the agonized reply. "Six
years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as
a marble image."
"Can't anything else be done?" asked the
Patchwork Girl.
The Magician shook his head. Then he seemed to
remember something and looked up.
"There is one other compound that would destroy
the magic spell of the Liquid of Petrifaction and
restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life," said he.
"It may be hard to find the things I need to make
this magic compound, but if they were found I
could do in an instant what will otherwise take
six long, weary years of stirring kettles with
both hands and both feet."
"All right; let's find the things, then,"
suggested the Patchwork Girl. "That seems a lot
more sensible than those stirring times with the
kettles."
"That's the idea, Scraps," said the Glass Cat,
approvingly. "I'm glad to find you have decent
brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can
see 'em work; they're pink."
"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me
'Scraps'? Is that my name?"
"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to
name you 'Angeline,'" said the Magician.
"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a
laugh. "It fits me better, for my patchwork is
all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for
naming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of
your own?"
"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once
gave me, but which is quite undignified for
one of my importance," answered the cat. "She
called me 'Bungle.'"
"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad
bungle, taken all in all. I was wrong to make
you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and
brittle thing never before existed."
"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the
cat. "I've been alive a good many years, for
Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first
magic Powder of Life he ever made, and so
far I've never broken or cracked or chipped any
part of me."
"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder,"
laughed the Patchwork Girl, and the cat went
to the mirror to see.
"Tell me," pleaded Ojo, speaking to the
Crooked Magician, "what must we find to make
the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?"
"First," was the reply, "I must have a sixleaved
clover. That can only be found in the green
country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved
clovers are very scarce, even there."
"I'll find it for you," promised Ojo.
"The next thing," continued the Magician,
"is the left wing of a yellow butterfly. That
color can only be found in the yellow country
of the Winkies, West of the Emerald City."
"I'll find it," declared Ojo. "Is that all?"
"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see
what comes next."
Saying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer
of his cabinet and drew out a small book covered
with blue leather. Looking through the pages
he found the recipe he wanted and said: "I
must have a gill of water from a dark well."
"What kind of a well is that, sir?" asked the
boy.
"One where the light of day never penetrates.
The water must be put in a gold bottle and brought
to me without any light ever reaching it."
"I'll get the water from the dark well," said
Ojo.
"Then I must have three hairs from the tip
of a Woozy's tail, and a drop of oil from a live
man's body."
Ojo looked grave at this.
"What is a Woozy, please?" he inquired.
"Some sort of an animal. I've never seen one,
so I can't describe it," replied the Magician.
"If I can find a Woozy, I'll get the hairs from
its tail," said Ojo. "But is there ever any oil in a
man's body?"
The Magician looked in the book again, to make
sure.
"That's what the recipe calls for," he replied,
"and of course we must get everything that is
called for, or the charm won't work. The book
doesn't say 'blood'; it says 'oil,' and there must
be oil somewhere in a live man's body or the
book wouldn't ask for it."
"All right," returned Ojo, trying not to feel
discouraged; "I'll try to find it."
The Magician looked at the little Munchkin
boy in a doubtful way and said:
"All this will mean a long journey for you;
perhaps several long journeys; for you must search
through several of the different countries of Oz
in order to get the things I need."
"I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save
Unc Nunkie."
"And also my poor wife Margolotte. If you save
one you will save the other, for both stand there
together and the same compound will restore them
both to life. Do the best you can, Ojo, and while
you are gone I shall begin the six years job of
making a new batch of the Powder of Life. Then, if
you should unluckily fail to secure any one of the
things needed, I will have lost no time. But if
you succeed you must return here as quickly as you
can, and that will save me much tiresome stirring
of four kettles with both feet and both hands."
"I will start on my journey at once, sir," said
the boy.
"And I will go with you," declared the Patchwork
Girl.
"No, no!" exclaimed the Magician. "You have no
right to leave this house. You are only a servant
and have not been discharged."
Scraps, who had been dancing up and down
the room, stopped and looked at him.
"What is a servant?" she asked.
"One who serves. A--a sort of slave," he
explained.
"Very well," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'm going
to serve you and your wife by helping Ojo find the
things you need. You need a lot, you know, such as
are not easily found."
"It is true," sighed Dr. Pipt. "I am well aware
that Ojo has undertaken a serious task."
Scraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:
"Here's a job for a boy of brains:
A drop of oil from a live man's veins;
A six-leaved clover; three nice hairs
From a Woozy's tail, the book declares
Are needed for the magic spell,
And water from a pitch-dark well.
The yellow wing of a butterfly
To find must Ojo also try,
And if he gets them without harm,
Doc Pipt will make the magic charm;
But if he doesn't get 'em, Unc
Will always stand a marble chunk."
The Magician looked at her thoughtfully.
"Poor Margolotte must have given you some of the
quality of poesy, by mistake," he said. "And, if
that is true, I didn't make a very good article
when I prepared it, or else you got an overdose or
an underdose. However, I believe I shall let you
go with Ojo, for my poor wife will not need your
services until she is restored to life. Also I
think you may be able to help the boy, for your
head seems to contain some thoughts I did not
expect to find in it. But be very careful of
yourself, for you're a souvenir of my dear
Margolotte. Try not to get ripped, or your
stuffing may fall out. One of your eyes seems
loose, and you may have to sew it on tighter. If
you talk too much you'll wear out your scarlet
plush tongue, which ought to have been hemmed on
the edges. And remember you belong to me and must
return here as soon as your mission is
accomplished."
"I'm going with Scraps and Ojo," announced
the Glass Cat.
"You can't," said the Magician.
"Why not?"
"You'd get broken in no time, and you
couldn't be a bit of use to the boy and the
Patchwork Girl."
"I beg to differ with you," returned the cat,
in a haughty tone. "Three heads are better
than two, and my pink brains are beautiful.
You can see 'em work."
"Well, go along," said the Magician, irritably.
"You're only an annoyance, anyhow, and I'm glad to
get rid of you."
"Thank you for nothing, then," answered the cat,
stiffly.
Dr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard
and packed several things in it. Then he handed
it to Ojo.
"Here is some food and a bundle of charms," he
said. "It is all I can give you, but I am sure you
will find friends on your journey who will assist
you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork
Girl and bring her safely back, for she ought to
prove useful to my wife. As for the Glass Cat--
properly named Bungle--if she bothers you I now
give you my permission to break her in two, for
she is not respectful and does not obey me. I made
a mistake in giving her the pink brains, you see."
Then Ojo went to Unc Nunkie and kissed the old
man's marble face very tenderly.
"I'm going to try to save you, Unc," he said,
just as if the marble image could hear him; and
then he shook the crooked hand of the Crooked
Magician, who was already busy hanging the four
kettles in the fireplace, and picking up his
basket left the house.
The Patchwork Girl followed him, and after
them came the Glass Cat.
Chapter Six
The Journey
Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew
that the path down the mountainside led into the
open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of
people dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not
supposed to know anything of the Land of Oz, while
the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very
far away from the Magician's house. There was only
one path before them, at the beginning, so they
could not miss their way, and for a time they
walked through the thick forest in silent thought,
each one impressed with the importance of the
adventure they had undertaken.
Suddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was
funny to see her laugh, because her cheeks
wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button
eyes twinkled and her mouth curled at the
corners in a comical way.
"Has something pleased you?" asked Ojo, who was
feeling solemn and joyless through thinking upon
his uncle's sad fate.
"Yes," she answered. "Your world pleases me, for
it's a queer world, and life in it is queerer
still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and
intended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered
free as air by an accident that none of you could
foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world,
while the woman who made me is standing helpless
as a block of wood. If that isn't funny enough to
laugh at, I don't know what is."
"You're not seeing much of the world yet,
my poor, innocent Scraps," remarked the Cat.
"The world doesn't consist wholly of the trees
that are on all sides of us."
"But they're part of it; and aren't they pretty
trees?" returned Scraps, bobbing her head until
her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze.
"Growing between them I can see lovely ferns
and wild-flowers, and soft green mosses. If the
rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be
glad I'm alive."
"I don't know what the rest of the world is
like, I'm sure," said the cat; "but I mean to
find out."
"I have never been out of the forest," Ojo
added; "but to me the trees are gloomy and sad
and the wild-flowers seem lonesome. It must be
nicer where there are no trees and there is room
for lots of people to live together."
"I wonder if any of the people we shall meet
will be as splendid as I am," said the Patchwork
Girl. "All I have seen, so far, have pale,
colorless skins and clothes as blue as the country
they live in, while I am of many gorgeous colors--
face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright
and contented, Ojo, while you are blue and sad."
"I think I made a mistake in giving you so many
sorts of brains," observed the boy. "Perhaps, as
the Magician said, you have an overdose, and they
may not agree with you."
"What had you to do with my brains?" asked
Scraps.
"A lot," replied Ojo. "Old Margolotte meant
to give you only a few--just enough to keep
you going--but when she wasn't looking I added
a good many more, of the best kinds I could
find in the Magician's cupboard."
"Thanks," said the girl, dancing along the
path ahead of Ojo and then dancing back to his
side. "If a few brains are good, many brains
must be better."
"But they ought to be evenly balanced," said the
boy, "and I had no time to be careful. From the
way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly
mixed."
"Scraps hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so
don't worry," remarked the cat, which was trotting
along in a very dainty and graceful manner. "The
only brains worth considering are mine, which are
pink. You can see 'em work."
After walking a long time they came to a little
brook that trickled across the path, and here Ojo
sat down to rest and eat something from his
basket. He found that the Magician had given him
part of a loaf of bread and a slice of cheese. He
broke off some of the bread and was surprised to
find the loaf just as large as it was before. It
was the same way with the cheese: however much he
broke off from the slice, it remained exactly the
same size.
"Ah," said he, nodding wisely; "that's magic.
Dr. Pipt has enchanted the bread and the cheese,
so it will last me all through my journey, however
much I eat."
"Why do you put those things into your mouth?"
asked Scraps, gazing at him in astonishment. "Do
you need more stuffing? Then why don't you use
cotton, such as I am stuffed with?"
"I don't need that kind," said Ojo.
"But a mouth is to talk with, isn't it?"
"It is also to eat with," replied the boy. "If I
didn't put food into my mouth, and eat it, I would
get hungry and starve.
"Ah, I didn't know that," she said. "Give me
some."
Ojo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it
in her mouth.
"What next?" she asked, scarcely able to speak.
"Chew it and swallow it," said the boy.
Scraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable
to chew the bread and beyond her mouth there was
no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw away
the bread and laughed.
"I must get hungry and starve, for I can't eat,"
she said.
"Neither can I," announced the cat; "but I'm
not fool enough to try. Can't you understand
that you and I are superior people and not made
like these poor humans?"
"Why should I understand that, or anything
else?" asked the girl. "Don't bother my head by
asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me
discover myself in my own way."
With this she began amusing herself by leaping
across the brook and back again.
"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water,"
warned Ojo.
"Never mind."
"You'd better. If you get wet you'll be soggy
and can't walk. Your colors might run, too,"
he said.
"Don't my colors run whenever I run?" she asked.
"Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the
reds and greens and yellows and purples of your
patches might run into each other and become
just a blur--no color at all, you know."
"Then," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'll be
careful, for if I spoiled my splendid colors I
would cease to be beautiful."
"Pah!" sneered the Glass Cat, "such colors are
not beautiful; they're ugly, and in bad taste.
Please notice that my body has no color at all.
I'm transparent, except for my exquisite red heart
and my lovely pink brains--you can see 'em work."
"Shoo--shoo--shoo!" cried Scraps, dancing
around and laughing. "And your horrid green eyes,
Miss Bungle! You can't see your eyes, but we can,
and I notice you're very proud of what little
color you have. Shoo, Miss Bungle, shoo--shoo--shoo!
If you were all colors and many colors, as I am,
you'd be too stuck up for anything." She leaped
over the cat and back again, and the startled
Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her. This
made Scraps laugh more heartily than ever, and she
said:
"Whoop-te-doodle-doo!
The cat has lost her shoe.
Her tootsie's bare, but she don't care,
So what's the odds to you?"
"Dear me, Ojo," said the cat; "don't you think
the creature is a little bit crazy?"
"It may be," he answered, with a puzzled look.
"If she continues her insults I'll scratch off
her suspender-button eyes," declared the cat.
"Don't quarrel, please," pleaded the boy, rising
to resume the journey. "Let us be good comrades
and as happy and cheerful as possible, for we are
likely to meet with plenty of trouble on our way."
It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge
of the forest and saw spread out before them a
delightful landscape. There were broad blue fields
stretching for miles over the valley, which was
dotted everywhere with pretty, blue domed houses,
none of which, however, was very near to the place
where they stood. Just at the point where the path
left the forest stood a tiny house covered with
leaves from the trees, and before this stood a
Munchkin man with an axe in his hand. He seemed
very much surprised when Ojo and Scraps and the
Glass Cat came out of the woods, but as the
Patchwork Girl approached nearer he sat down upon
a bench and laughed so hard that he could not
speak for a long time.
This man was a woodchopper and lived all alone
in the little house. He had bushy blue whiskers
and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were quite
old and worn.
"Mercy me!" exclaimed the woodchopper, when at
last he could stop laughing. "Who would think such
a funny harlequin lived in the Land of Oz? Where
did you come from, Crazy-quilt?"
"Do you mean me?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Of course," he replied.
"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazyquilt;
I'm patchwork," she said.
"There's no difference," he replied, beginning
to laugh again. "When my old grandmother sews such
things together she calls it a crazy-quilt; but I
never thought such a jumble could come to life."
"It was the Magic Powder that did it," explained
Ojo.
"Oh, then you have come from the Crooked
Magician on the mountain. I might have known it,
for--Well, I declare! here's a glass cat. But the
Magician will get in trouble for this; it's
against the law for anyone to work magic except
Glinda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you
people--or things--or glass spectacles--or crazyquilts--
or whatever you are, go near the Emerald
City, you'll be arrested."
"We're going there, anyhow," declared
Scraps, sitting upon the bench and swinging her
stuffed legs.
"If any of us takes a rest,
We'll be arrested sure,
And get no restitution
'Cause the rest we must endure."
"I see," said the woodchopper, nodding; "you're
as crazy as the crazy-quilt you're made of."
"She really is crazy," remarked the Glass Cat.
"But that isn't to be wondered at when you
remember how many different things she's made of.
For my part, I'm made of pure glass--except my
jewel heart and my pretty pink brains. Did you
notice my brains, stranger? You can see 'em work."
"So I can," replied the woodchopper; "but I
can't see that they accomplish much. A glass cat
is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork Girl
is really useful. She makes me laugh, and laughter
is the best thing in life. There was once a
woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was made all of
tin, and I used to laugh every time I saw him."
"A tin woodchopper?" said Ojo. "That is
strange."
"My friend wasn't always tin," said the man,
"but he was careless with his axe, and used to
chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm
or a leg he had it replaced with tin; so after a
while he was all tin."
"And could he chop wood then?" asked the boy.
"He could if he didn't rust his tin joints. But
one day he met Dorothy in the forest and went with
her to the Emerald City, where he made his
fortune. He is now one of the favorites of
Princess Ozma, and she has made him the Emperor of
the Winkies--the Country where all is yellow."
"Who is Dorothy?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but
is now a Princess of Oz. She's Ozma's best
friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal
palace."
"Is Dorothy made of tin?" inquired Ojo.
"Is she patchwork, like me?" inquired Scraps.
"No," said the man; "Dorothy is flesh, just as I
am. I know of only one tin person, and that is
Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will
never be but one Patchwork Girl, for any magician
that sees you will refuse to make another one like
you."
"I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we
are going to the Country of the Winkies," said the
boy.
"What for?" asked the woodchopper.
"To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"It is a long journey," declared the man, "and
you will go through lonely parts of Oz and cross
rivers and traverse dark forests before you get
there."
"Suits me all right," said Scraps. "I'll get a
chance to see the country."
"You're crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag
and hide there; or give yourself to some little
girl to play with. Those who travel are likely to
meet trouble; that's why I stay at home."
The woodchopper then invited them all to
stay the night at his little hut, but they were
anxious to get on and so left him and continued
along the path, which was broader, now, and
more distinct.
They expected to reach some other house before
it grew dark, but the twilight was brief and Ojo
soon began to fear they had made a mistake in
leaving the woodchopper.
"I can scarcely see the path," he said at last.
"Can you see it, Scraps?"
"No," replied the Patchwork Girl, who was
holding fast to the boy's arm so he could
guide her.
"I can see," declared the Glass Cat. "My eyes
are better than yours, and my pink brains--"
"Never mind your pink brains, please," said
Ojo hastily; "just run ahead and show us the
way. Wait a minute and I'll tie a string to you;
for then you can lead us."
He got a string from his pocket and tied it
around the cat's neck, and after that the creature
guided them along the path. They had proceeded in
this way for about an hour when a twinkling blue
light appeared ahead of them.
"Good! there's a house at last," cried Ojo.
"When we reach it the good people will surely
welcome us and give us a night's lodging." But
however far they walked the light seemed to get
no nearer, so by and by the cat stopped short,
saying:
"I think the light is traveling, too, and we
shall never be able to catch up with it. But here
is a house by the roadside, so why go farther?"
"Where is the house, Bungle?"
"Just here beside us, Scraps."
Ojo was now able to see a small house near
the pathway. It was dark and silent, but the boy
was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to
the door and knocked.
"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.
"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are
Miss Scraps Patchwork and the Glass Cat," he
replied.
"What do you want?" asked the Voice.
"A place to sleep," said Ojo.
"Come in, then; but don't make any noise,
and you must go directly to bed," returned the
Voice.
Ojo unlatched the door and entered. It was
very dark inside and he could see nothing at all.
But the cat exclaimed: "Why, there's no one
here!"
"There must be," said the boy. "Some one
spoke to me."
"I can see everything in the room," replied the
cat, "and no one is present but ourselves. But
here are three beds, all made up, so we may as
well go to sleep."
"What is sleep?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Ojo.
"But why do you go to bed?" persisted the
Patchwork Girl.
"Here, here! You are making altogether too
much noise," cried the Voice they had heard
before. "Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed."
The cat, which could see in the dark, looked
sharply around for the owner of the Voice, but
could discover no one, although the Voice had
seemed close beside them. She arched her back
a little and seemed afraid. Then she whispered
to Ojo: "Come!" and led him to a bed.
With his hands the boy felt of the bed and
found it was big and soft, with feather pillows
and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes
and hat and crept into the bed. Then the cat
led Scraps to another bed and the Patchwork
Girl was puzzled to know what to do with it.
"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the
cat, warningly.
"Can't I sing?" asked Scraps.
"No."
"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.
"No."
"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?"
asked Scraps.
"You must keep quiet," said the cat, in a soft
voice.
"I don't want to," replied the Patchwork Girl,
speaking as loudly as usual. "What right have you
to order me around? If I want to talk, or yell, or
whistle--"
Before she could say anything more an unseen
hand seized her firmly and threw her out of the
door, which closed behind her with a sharp
slam. She found herself bumping and rolling in
the road and when she got up and tried to open
the door of the house again she found it locked.
"What has happened to Scraps?" asked Ojo.
"Never mind. Let's go to sleep, or something
will happen to us," answered the Glass Cat.
So Ojo snuggled down in his bed and fell
asleep, and he was so tired that he never
wakened until broad daylight.
Chapter Seven
The Troublesome Phonograph
When the boy opened his eyes next morning he
looked carefully around the room. These small
Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in
them. That in which Ojo now found himself had
three beds, set all in a row on one side of it.
The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in
the second, and the third was neatly made up and
smoothed for the day. On the other side of the
room was a round table on which breakfast was
already placed, smoking hot. Only one chair was
drawn up to the table, where a place was set for
one person. No one seemed to be in the room except
the boy and Bungle.
Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a
toilet stand at the head of his bed he washed his
face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he
went to the table and said:
"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"
"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, so
near that Ojo jumped. But no person could he
see.
He was hungry, and the breakfast looked
good; so he sat down and ate all he wanted.
Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the
Glass Cat.
"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go."
He cast another glance about the room and,
speaking to the air, he said: "Whoever lives here
has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."
There was no answer, so he took his basket
and went out the door, the cat following him.
In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork
Girl, playing with pebbles she had picked up.
"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully.
"I thought you were never coming out. It has been
daylight a long time."
"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.
"Sat here and watched the stars and the
moon," she replied. "They're interesting. I never
saw them before, you know."
"Of course not," said Ojo.
"You were crazy to act so badly and get
thrown outdoors," remarked Bungle, as they
renewed their journey.
"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't
been thrown out I wouldn't have seen the stars,
nor the big gray wolf."
"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.
"The one that came to the door of the house
three times during the night."
"I don't see why that should be," said the
boy, thoughtfully; "there was plenty to eat in
that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I
slept in a nice bed."
"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork
Girl, noticing that the boy yawned.
"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night;
and yet I slept very well."
"And aren't you hungry?"
"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good
breakfast, and yet I think I'll now eat some of
my crackers and cheese."
Scraps danced up and down the path. Then
she sang:
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;
The wolf is at the door,
There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,
And a bill from the grocery store."
"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.
"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what
comes into my head, but of course I know nothing
of a grocery store or bones without meat or--
very much else."
"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring,
raving crazy, and her brains can't be pink, for
they don't work properly."
"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares
for 'em, anyhow? Have you noticed how beautiful my
patches are in this sunlight?"
Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps
pattering along the path behind them and all three
turned to see what was coming. To their
astonishment they beheld a small round table
running as fast as its four spindle legs could
carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a
phonograph with a big gold horn.
"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for
me!"
"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the
Crooked Magician scattered the Powder of Life
over," said Ojo.
"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of
voice; and then, as the phonograph overtook them,
the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are you doing
here, anyhow?"
"I've run away," said the music thing. "After
you left, old Dr. Pipt and I had a dreadful
quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if
I didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that,
because a talking-machine is supposed to talk and
make a noise--and sometimes music. So I slipped out
of the house while the Magician was stirring his
four kettles and I've been running after you all
night. Now that I've found such pleasant company,
I can talk and play tunes all I want to."
Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome
addition to their party. At first he did not know
what to say to the newcomer, but a little thought
decided him not to make friends.
"We are traveling on important business," he
declared, "and you'll excuse me if I say we can't
be bothered."
"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.
"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'll
have to go somewhere else."
"This is very unkind treatment, I must say,"
whined the phonograph, in an injured tone.
"Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended
to amuse people."
"It isn't you we hate, especially," observed
the Glass Cat; "it's your dreadful music. When
I lived in the same room with you I was much
annoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls and
grumbles and clicks and scratches so it spoils
the music, and your machinery rumbles so that
the racket drowns every tune you attempt."
"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my
records. I must admit that I haven't a clear
record," answered the machine.
"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said
Ojo.
"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This music
thing interests me. I remember to have heard
music when I first came to life, and I would like
to hear it again. What is your name, my poor
abused phonograph?"
"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.
"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said
the Patchwork Girl. "Go ahead and play something."
"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.
"I'm crazy now, according to your statement.
Loosen up and reel out the music, Vic."
"The only record I have with me," explained
the phonograph, "is one the Magician attached
just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly
classical composition."
"A what?" inquired Scraps.
"It is classical music, and is considered the
best and most puzzling ever manufactured.
You're supposed to like it, whether you do or
not, and if you don't, the proper thing is to look
as if you did. Understand?"
"Not in the least," said Scraps.
"Then, listen!"
At once the machine began to play and in a
few minutes Ojo put his hands to his ears to
shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and
Scraps began to laugh.
"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."
But the phonograph continued playing the dreary
tune, so Ojo seized the crank, jerked it free and
threw it into the road. However, the moment the
crank struck the ground it bounded back to the
machine again and began winding it up. And still
the music played.
"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all started
and ran down the path as fast as they could go.
But the phonograph was right behind them
and could run and play at the same time. It
called out, reproachfully:
"What's the matter? Don't you love classical
music?"
"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We will
passical the classical and preserve what joy we
have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness,
but your music makes my cotton shrink."
"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time
tune on the other side," said the machine.
"What's rag-time?"
"The opposite of classical."
"All right," said Scraps, and turned over the
record.
The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble
of sounds which proved so bewildering that after a
moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron into the
gold horn and cried: "Stop--stop! That's the other
extreme. It's extremely bad!"
Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.
"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash
your record," threatened Ojo.
The music stopped, at that, and the machine
turned its horn from one to another and said
with great indignation: "What's the matter
now? Is it possible you can't appreciate ragtime?"
"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," said
the cat; "but I simply can't stand it; it makes
my whiskers curl."
"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, with
a shudder.
"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad,"
murmured the Patchwork Girl. "I'll tell you what,
Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron and
put it on again, "for some reason or other you've
missed your guess. You're not a concert; you're a
nuisance."
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage
breast," asserted the phonograph sadly.
"Then we're not savages. I advise you to go
home and beg the Magician's pardon."
"Never! He'd smash me."
"That's what we shall do, if you stay here,"
Ojo declared.
"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else,"
advised Scraps. "Find some one who is real
wicked, and stay with him till he repents. In
that way you can do some good in the world."
The music thing turned silently away and
trotted down a side path, toward a distant
Munchkin village.
"Is that the way we go?" asked Bungle anxiously.
"No," said Ojo; "I think we shall keep straight
ahead, for this path is the widest and best.
When we come to some house we will inquire
the way to the Emerald City."
Chapter Eight
The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey
On they went, and half an hour's steady walking
brought them to a house somewhat better than the
two they had already passed. It stood close to the
roadside and over the door was a sign that read:
"Miss Foolish Owl and Mr. Wise Donkey: Public
Advisers."
When Ojo read this sign aloud Scraps said
laughingly: "Well, here is a place to get all the
advice we want, maybe more than we need. Let's go
in."
The boy knocked at the door.
"Come in!" called a deep bass voice.
So they opened the door and entered the house,
where a little light-brown donkey, dressed in a
blue apron and a blue cap, was engaged in dusting
the furniture with a blue cloth. On a shelf over
the window sat a great blue owl with a blue
sunbonnet on her head, blinking her big round
eyes at the visitors.
"Good morning," said the donkey, in his deep
voice, which seemed bigger than he was. "Did
you come to us for advice?"
"Why, we came, anyhow," replied Scraps, "and now
we are here we may as well have some advice. It's
free, isn't it?"
"Certainly," said the donkey. "Advice doesn't
cost anything--unless you follow it. Permit me to
say, by the way, that you are the queerest lot of
travelers that ever came to my shop. Judging you
merely by appearances, I think you'd better talk
to the Foolish Owl yonder."
They turned to look at the bird, which fluttered
its wings and stared back at them with its big
eyes.
"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot!" cried the owl.
"Fiddle-cum-foo,
Howdy-do?
Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum,
Too-ra-la-loo!"
"That beats your poetry, Scraps," said Ojo.
"It's just nonsense!" declared the Glass Cat.
"But it's good advice for the foolish," said
the donkey, admiringly. "Listen to my partner,
and you can't go wrong."
Said the owl in a grumbling voice:
"Patchwork Girl has come to life;
No one's sweetheart, no one's wife;
Lacking sense and loving fun,
She'll be snubbed by everyone."
"Quite a compliment! Quite a compliment, I
declare," exclaimed the donkey, turning to look at
Scraps. "You are certainly a wonder, my dear, and
I fancy you'd make a splendid pincushion. If you
belonged to me, I'd wear smoked glasses when I
looked at you."
"Why?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Because you are so gay and gaudy."
"It is my beauty that dazzles you," she
asserted. "You Munchkin people all strut around in
your stupid blue color, while I--"
"You are wrong in calling me a Munchkin,"
interrupted the donkey, "for I was born in the
Land of Mo and came to visit the Land of Oz
on the day it was shut off from all the rest of
the world. So here I am obliged to stay, and I
confess it is a very pleasant country to live in."
"Hoot-ti-toot!" cried the owl;
"Ojo's searching for a charm,
'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.
Charms are scarce; they're hard to get;
Ojo's got a job, you bet!"
"Is the owl so very foolish?" asked the boy.
"Extremely so," replied the donkey. "Notice what
vulgar expressions she uses. But I admire the owl
for the reason that she is positively foolish.
Owls are supposed to be so very wise, generally,
that a foolish one is unusual, and you perhaps
know that anything or anyone unusual is sure to be
interesting to the wise."
The owl flapped its wings again, muttering
these words:
"It's hard to be a glassy cat--
No cat can be more hard than that;
She's so transparent, every act
Is clear to us, and that's a fact."
"Have you noticed my pink brains?" inquired
Bungle, proudly. "You can see 'em work."
"Not in the daytime," said the donkey. "She
can't see very well by day, poor thing. But her
advice is excellent. I advise you all to follow it."
"The owl hasn't given us any advice, as yet,"
the boy declared.
"No? Then what do you call all those sweet
poems?"
"Just foolishness," replied Ojo. "Scraps does
the same thing."
"Foolishness! Of course! To be sure! The Foolish
Owl must be foolish or she wouldn't be the Foolish
Owl. You are very complimentary to my partner,
indeed," asserted the donkey, rubbing his front
hoofs together as if highly pleased.
"The sign says that you are wise," remarked
Scraps to the donkey. "I wish you would prove it."
"With great pleasure," returned the beast.
"Put me to the test, my dear Patches, and I'll
prove my wisdom in the wink of an eye."
"What is the best way to get to the Emerald
City?" asked Ojo.
"Walk," said the donkey.
"I know; but what road shall I take?" was the
boy's next question.
"The road of yellow bricks, of course. It leads
directly to the Emerald City."
"And how shall we find the road of yellow
bricks?"
"By keeping along the path you have been
following. You'll come to the yellow bricks pretty
soon, and you'll know them when you see them
because they're the only yellow things in the
blue country."
"Thank you," said the boy. "At last you have
told me something."
"Is that the extent of your wisdom?" asked
Scraps.
"No," replied the donkey; "I know many
other things, but they wouldn't interest you.
So I'll give you a last word of advice: move on,
for the sooner you do that the sooner you'll
get to the Emerald City of Oz."
"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!" screeched the owl;
"Off you go! fast or slow,
Where you're going you don't know.
Patches, Bungle, Muchkin lad,
Facing fortunes good and bad,
Meeting dangers grave and sad,
Sometimes worried, sometimes glad--
Where you're going you don't know,
Nor do I, but off you go!"
"Sounds like a hint, to me," said the Patchwork Girl.
"Then let's take it and go," replied Ojo.
They said good-bye to the Wise Donkey and the
Foolish Owl and at once resumed their journey.
Chapter Nine
They Meet the Woozy
"There seem to be very few houses around here,
after all," remarked Ojo, after they had walked
for a time in silence.
"Never mind," said Scraps; "we are not looking
for houses, but rather the road of yellow bricks.
Won't it be funny to run across something yellow
in this dismal blue country?"
"There are worse colors than yellow in this
country," asserted the Glass Cat, in a spiteful
tone.
"Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call
your brains, and your red heart and green eyes?"
asked the Patchwork Girl.
"No; I mean you, if you must know it," growled
the cat.
"You're jealous!" laughed Scraps. "You'd give
your whiskers for a lovely variegated complexion
like mine."
"I wouldn't!" retorted the cat. "I've the
clearest complexion in the world, and I don't
employ a beauty-doctor, either."
"I see you don't," said Scraps.
"Please don't quarrel," begged Ojo. "This is an
important journey, and quarreling makes me
discouraged. To be brave, one must be cheerful, so
I hope you will be as good-tempered as possible."
They had traveled some distance when suddenly
they faced a high fence which barred any further
progress straight ahead. It ran directly across
the road and enclosed a small forest of tall
trees, set close together. When the group of
adventurers peered through the bars of the fence
they thought this forest looked more gloomy and
forbidding than any they had ever seen before.
They soon discovered that the path they had
been following now made a bend and passed
around the enclosure, but what made Ojo stop
and look thoughtful was a sign painted on the
fence which read:
"BEWARE OF THE WOOZY!"
"That means," he said, "that there's a Woozy
inside that fence, and the Woozy must be a
dangerous animal or they wouldn't tell people
to beware of it."
"Let's keep out, then," replied Scraps. "That
path is outside the fence, and Mr. Woozy may have
all his little forest to himself, for all we care."
"But one of our errands is to find a Woozy,"
Ojo explained. "The Magician wants me to get
three hairs from the end of a Woozy's tail."
"Let's go on and find some other Woozy,"
suggested the cat. "This one is ugly and
dangerous, or they wouldn't cage him up. Maybe
we shall find another that is tame and gentle."
"Perhaps there isn't any other, at all,"
answered Ojo. "The sign doesn't say: 'Beware a
Woozy'; it says: 'Beware the Woozy,' which may
mean there's only one in all the Land of Oz."
"Then," said Scraps, "suppose we go in and
find him? Very likely if we ask him politely to
let us pull three hairs out of the tip of his tail
he won't hurt us."
"It would hurt him, I'm sure, and that would
make him cross," said the cat.
"You needn't worry, Bungle," remarked the
Patchwork Girl; "for if there is danger you can
climb a tree. Ojo and I are not afraid; are we,
Ojo?"
"I am, a little," the boy admitted; "but this
danger must be faced, if we intend to save poor
Unc Nunkie. How shall we get over the fence?"
"Climb," answered Scraps, and at once she began
climbing up the rows of bars. Ojo followed and
found it more easy than he had expected. When they
got to the top of the fence they began to get down
on the other side and soon were in the forest. The
Glass Cat, being small, crept between the lower
bars and joined them.
Here there was no path of any sort, so they
entered the woods, the boy leading the way,
and wandered through the trees until they were
nearly in the center of the forest. They now
came upon a clear space in which stood a rocky
cave.
So far they had met no living creature, but
when Ojo saw the cave he knew it must be the
den of the Woozy.
It is hard to face any savage beast without
a sinking of the heart, but still more terrifying
is it to face an unknown beast, which you have
never seen even a picture of. So there is little
wonder that the pulses of the Munchkin boy
beat fast as he and his companions stood facing
the cave. The opening was perfectly square,
and about big enough to admit a goat.
"I guess the Woozy is asleep," said Scraps.
"Shall I throw in a stone, to waken him?"
"No; please don't," answered Ojo, his voice
trembling a little. "I'm in no hurry."
But he had not long to wait, for the Woozy
heard the sound of voices and came trotting out
of his cave. As this is the only Woozy that has
ever lived, either in the Land of Oz or out of
it, I must describe it to you.
The creature was all squares and flat surfaces
and edges. Its head was an exact square, like
one of the building-blocks a child plays with;
therefore it had no ears, but heard sounds
through two openings in the upper corners. Its
nose, being in the center of a square surface,
was flat, while the mouth was formed by the
opening of the lower edge of the block. The
body of the Woozy was much larger than its
head, but was likewise block-shaped--being
twice as long as it was wide and high. The tail
was square and stubby and perfectly straight,
and the four legs were made in the same way,
each being four-sided. The animal was covered
with a thick, smooth skin and had no hair at all
except at the extreme end of its tail, where there
grew exactly three stiff, stubby hairs. The beast
was dark blue in color and his face was not
fierce nor ferocious in expression, but rather
good-humored and droll.
Seeing the strangers, the Woozy folded his
hind legs as if they had been hinged and sat
down to look his visitors over.
"Well, well," he exclaimed; "what a queer lot
you are! At first I thought some of those
miserable Munchkin farmers had come to annoy me,
but I am relieved to find you in their stead. It
is plain to me that you are a remarkable group--as
remarkable in your way as I am in mine--and so you
are welcome to my domain. Nice place, isn't it?
But lonesome--dreadfully lonesome."
"Why did they shut you up here?" asked
Scraps, who was regarding the queer, square
creature with much curiosity.
"Because I eat up all the honey-bees which
the Munchkin farmers who live around here
keep to make them honey."
"Are you fond of eating honey-bees?" inquired
the boy.
"Very. They are really delicious. But the
farmers did not like to lose their bees and so
they tried to destroy me. Of course they couldn't
do that."
"Why not?"
"My skin is so thick and tough that nothing can
get through it to hurt me. So, finding they could
not destroy me, they drove me into this forest and
built a fence around me. Unkind, wasn't it?"
"But what do you eat now?" asked Ojo.
"Nothing at all. I've tried the leaves from the
trees and the mosses and creeping vines, but they
don't seem to suit my taste. So, there being no
honey-bees here, I've eaten nothing for years.
"You must be awfully hungry," said the boy.
"I've got some bread and cheese in my basket.
Would you like that kind of food?"
"Give me a nibble and I will try it; then I
can tell you better whether it is grateful to my
appetite," returned the Woozy.
So the boy opened his basket and broke a
piece off the loaf of bread. He tossed it toward
the Woozy, who cleverly caught it in his mouth
and ate it in a twinkling.
"That's rather good," declared the animal.
"Any more?"
"Try some cheese," said Ojo, and threw down a
piece.
The Woozy ate that, too, and smacked its long,
thin lips.
"That's mighty good!" it exclaimed. "Any more?"
"Plenty," replied Ojo. So he sat down on a Stump
and fed the Woozy bread and cheese for a long
time; for, no matter how much the boy broke off,
the loaf and the slice remained just as big.
"That'll do," said the Woozy, at last; "I'm
quite full. I hope the strange food won't give
me indigestion."
"I hope not," said Ojo. "It's what I eat."
"Well, I must say I'm much obliged, and
I'm glad you came," announced the beast. "Is
there anything I can do in return for your
kindness?"
"Yes," said Ojo earnestly, "you have it in
your power to do me a great favor, if you will."
"What is it?" asked the Woozy. "Name the
favor and I will grant it."
"I--I want three hairs from the tip of your
tail," said Ojo, with some hesitation.
"Three hairs! Why, that's all I have--on my
tail or anywhere else," exclaimed the beast.
"I know; but I want them very much."
"They are my sole ornaments, my prettiest
feature," said the Woozy, uneasily. "If I give
up those three hairs I--I'm just a blockhead."
"Yet I must have them," insisted the boy,
firmly, and he then told the Woozy all about the
accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and how the
three hairs were to be a part of the magic charm
that would restore them to life. The beast
listened with attention and when Ojo had finished
the recital it said, with a sigh:
"I always keep my word, for I pride myself on
being square. So you may have the three hairs, and
welcome. I think, under such circumstances, it
would be selfish in me to refuse you."
"Thank you! Thank you very much," cried
the boy, joyfully. "May I pull out the hairs
now?"
"Any time you like," answered the Woozy.
So Ojo went up to the queer creature and
taking hold of one of the hairs began to pull.
He pulled harder. He pulled with all his might;
but the hair remained fast.
"What's the trouble?" asked the Woozy,
which Ojo had dragged here and there all
around the clearing in his endeavor to pull out
the hair.
"It won't come," said the boy, panting.
"I was afraid of that," declared the beast.
"You'll have to pull harder."
"I'll help you," exclaimed Scraps, coming to
the boy's side. "You pull the hair, and I'll pull
you, and together we ought to get it out easily."
"Wait a jiffy," called the Woozy, and then
it went to a tree and hugged it with its front
paws, so that its body couldn't be dragged
around by the pull. "All ready, now. Go ahead!"
Ojo grasped the hair with both hands and
pulled with all his strength, while Scraps seized
the boy around his waist and added her strength
to his. But the hair wouldn't budge. Instead, it
slipped out of Ojo's hands and he and Scraps
both rolled upon the ground in a heap and never
stopped until they bumped against the rocky
cave.
"Give it up," advised the Glass Cat, as the
boy arose and assisted the Patchwork Girl to her
feet. "A dozen strong men couldn't pull out
those hairs. I believe they're clinched on the
under side of the Woozy's thick skin."
"Then what shall I do?" asked the boy,
despairingly. "If on our return I fail to take
these three hairs to the Crooked Magician, the
other things I have come to seek will be of no
use at all, and we cannot restore Unc Nunkie
and Margolotte to life."
"They're goners, I guess," said the Patchwork
Girl.
"Never mind," added the cat. "I can't see that
old Unc and Margolotte are worth all this trouble,
anyhow."
But Ojo did not feel that way. He was so
disheartened that he sat down upon a stump and
began to cry.
The Woozy looked at the boy thoughtfully.
"Why don't you take me with you?" asked the
beast. "Then, when at last you get to the
Magician's house, he can surely find some way to
pull out those three hairs."
Ojo was overjoyed at this suggestion.
"That's it!" he cried, wiping away the tears
and springing to his feet with a smile. "If I take
the three hairs to the Magician, it won't matter
if they are still in your body."
"It can't matter in the least," agreed the
Woozy.
"Come on, then," said the boy, picking up his
basket; "let us start at once. I have several other
things to find, you know."
But the Glass Cat gave a little laugh and
inquired in her scornful way:
"How do you intend to get the beast out of this
forest?"
That puzzled them all for a time.
"Let us go to the fence, and then we may find a
way," suggested Scraps. So they walked through the
forest to the fence, reaching it at a point
exactly opposite that where they had entered the
enclosure.
"How did you get in?" asked the Woozy.
"We climbed over," answered Ojo.
"I can't do that," said the beast. "I'm a very
swift runner, for I can overtake a honey-bee as
it flies; and I can jump very high, which is the
reason they made such a tall fence to keep me
in. But I can't climb at all, and I'm too big to
squeeze between the bars of the fence."
Ojo tried to think what to do.
"Can you dig?" he asked.
"No," answered the Woozy, "for I have no
claws. My feet are quite flat on the bottom of
them. Nor can I gnaw away the boards, as I
have no teeth."
"You're not such a terrible creature, after all,"
remarked Scraps.
"You haven't heard me growl, or you wouldn't say
that," declared the Woozy. "When I growl, the
sound echoes like thunder all through the valleys
and woodlands, and children tremble with fear, and
women cover their heads with their aprons, and big
men run and hide. I suppose there is nothing in
the world so terrible to listen to as the growl of
a Woozy."
"Please don't growl, then," begged Ojo,
earnestly.
"There is no danger of my growling, for
I am not angry. Only when angry do I utter
my fearful, ear-splitting, soul-shuddering growl.
Also, when I am angry, my eyes flash fire,
whether I growl or not."
"Real fire?" asked Ojo.
"Of course, real fire. Do you suppose they'd
flash imitation fire?" inquired the Woozy, in an
injured tone.
"In that case, I've solved the riddle," cried
Scraps, dancing with glee. "Those fence-boards
are made of wood, and if the Woozy stands
close to the fence and lets his eyes flash fire,
they might set fire to the fence and burn it up.
Then he could walk away with us easily, being
free."
"Ah, I have never thought of that plan, or I
would have been free long ago," said the Woozy.
"But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am
very angry."
"Can't you get angry 'bout something, please?"
asked Ojo.
"I'll try. You just say 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me."
"Will that make you angry?" inquired the boy.
"Terribly angry."
"What does it mean?" asked Scraps.
"I don't know; that's what makes me so angry,"
replied the Woozy.
He then stood close to the fence, with his
head near one of the boards, and Scraps called out
"Krizzle-Kroo!" Then Ojo said "Krizzle-Kroo!"
and the Glass Cat said "Krizzle-Kroo!" The Woozy
began to tremble with anger and small sparks
darted from his eyes. Seeing this, they all cried
"Krizzle-Kroo!" together, and that made the
beast's eyes flash fire so fiercely that the
fence-board caught the sparks and began to smoke.
Then it burst into flame, and the Woozy stepped
back and said triumphantly:
"Aha! That did the business, all right. It was
a happy thought for you to yell all together, for
that made me as angry as I have ever been.
Fine sparks, weren't they?"
"Reg'lar fireworks," replied Scraps, admiringly.
In a few moments the board had burned to a
distance of several feet, leaving an opening big
enough for them all to pass through. Ojo broke
some branches from a tree and with them
whipped the fire until it was extinguished.
"We don't want to burn the whole fence
down," said he, "for the flames would attract
the attention of the Munchkin farmers, who
would then come and capture the Woozy again.
I guess they'll be rather surprised when they
find he's escaped."
"So they will," declared the Woozy, chuckling
gleefully. "When they find I'm gone the farmers
will be badly scared, for they'll expect me to eat
up their honey-bees, as I did before."
"That reminds me," said the boy, "that you must
promise not to eat honey-bees while you are in our
company."
"None at all?"
"Not a bee. You would get us all into trouble,
and we can't afford to have any more trouble than
is necessary. I'll feed you all the bread and
cheese you want, and that must satisfy you."
"All right; I'll promise," said the Woozy,
cheerfully. "And when I promise anything you
can depend on it, 'cause I'm square."
"I don't see what difference that makes,"
observed the Patchwork Girl, as they found the
path and continued their journey. "The shape
doesn't make a thing honest, does it?"
"Of course it does," returned the Woozy, very
decidedly. "No one could trust that Crooked
Magician, for instance, just because he is
crooked; but a square Woozy couldn't do anything
crooked if he wanted to."
"I am neither square nor crooked," said
Scraps, looking down at her plump body.
"No; you're round, so you're liable to do
anything," asserted the Woozy. "Do not blame me,
Miss Gorgeous, if I regard you with suspicion.
Many a satin ribbon has a cotton back."
Scraps didn't understand this, but she had an
uneasy misgiving that she had a cotton back
herself. It would settle down, at times, and make
her squat and dumpy, and then she had to roll
herself in the road until her body stretched out again.
Chapter Ten
Shaggy Man to the Rescue
They had not gone very far before Bungle, who had
run on ahead, came bounding back to say that the
road of yellow bricks was just before them. At
once they hurried forward to see what this famous
road looked like.
It was a broad road, but not straight, for it
wandered over hill and dale and picked out the
easiest places to go. All its length and breadth
was paved with smooth bricks of a bright yellow
color, so it was smooth and level except in a few
places where the bricks had crumbled or been
removed, leaving holes that might cause the unwary
to stumble.
"I wonder," said Ojo, looking up and down the
road, "which way to go."
"Where are you bound for?" asked the Woozy.
"The Emerald City," he replied.
"Then go west," said the Woozy. "I know this
road pretty well, for I've chased many a honey-bee
over it."
"Have you ever been to the Emerald City?"
asked Scraps.
"No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have
noticed, so I haven't mingled much in society."
"Are you afraid of men?" inquired the Patchwork
Girl.
"Me? With my heart-rending growl--my horrible,
shudderful growl? I should say not. I am not
afraid of anything," declared the Woozy.
"I wish I could say the same," sighed Ojo. "I
don't think we need be afraid when we get to the
Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that
Ozma, our girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and
tries to help everyone who is in trouble. But they
say there are many dangers lurking on the road to
the great Fairy City, and so we must be very
careful."
"I hope nothing will break me," said the
Glass Cat, in a nervous voice. "I'm a little brittle,
you know, and can't stand many hard knocks."
"If anything should fade the colors of my lovely
patches it would break my heart," said the
Patchwork Girl.
"I'm not sure you have a heart," Ojo reminded
her.
"Then it would break my cotton," persisted
Scraps. "Do you think they are all fast colors,
Ojo?" she asked anxiously.
"They seem fast enough when you run," he
replied; and then, looking ahead of them, he
exclaimed: "Oh, what lovely trees!"
They were certainly pretty to look upon and
the travelers hurried forward to observe them
more closely.
"Why, they are not trees at all," said Scraps;
"they are just monstrous plants."
That is what they really were: masses of great
broad leaves which rose from the ground far into
the air, until they towered twice as high as the
top of the Patchwork Girl's head, who was a little
taller than Ojo. The plants formed rows on both
sides of the road and from each plant rose a dozen
or more of the big broad leaves, which swayed
continually from side to side, although no wind
was blowing. But the most curious thing about the
swaying leaves was their color. They seemed to
have a general groundwork of blue, but here and
there other colors glinted at times through the
blue--gorgeous yellows, turning to pink, purple,
orange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns
and grays--each appearing as a blotch or stripe
anywhere on a leaf and then disappearing, to be
replaced by some other color of a different shape.
The changeful coloring of the great leaves was
very beautiful, but it was bewildering, as well,
and the novelty of the scene drew our travelers
close to the line of plants, where they stood
watching them with rapt interest.
Suddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and
touched the Patchwork Girl. Swiftly it enveloped
her in its embrace, covering her completely in
its thick folds, and then it swayed back upon its
stem.
"Why, she's gone!" gasped Ojo, in amazement, and
listening carefully he thought he could hear the
muffled screams of Scraps coming from the center
of the folded leaf. But, before he could think
what he ought to do to save her, another leaf bent
down and captured the Glass Cat, rolling around
the little creature until she was completely
hidden, and then straightening up again upon its
stem.
"Look out," cried the Woozy. "Run! Run
fast, or you are lost."
Ojo turned and saw the Woozy running
swiftly up the road. But the last leaf of the row
of plants seized the beast even as he ran and
instantly he disappeared from sight.
The boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of
the great leaves were bending toward him from
different directions and as he stood hesitating
one of them clutched him in its embrace. In a
flash he was in the dark. Then he felt himself
gently lifted until he was swaying in the air,
with the folds of the leaf hugging him on all
sides.
At first he struggled hard to escape, crying
out in anger: "Let me go! Let me go!" But
neither struggles nor protests had any effect
whatever. The leaf held him firmly and he was
a prisoner.
Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think.
Despair fell upon him when he remembered that all
his little party had been captured, even as he
was, and there was none to save them.
"I might have expected it," he sobbed,
miserably. "I'm Ojo the Unlucky, and something
dreadful was sure to happen to me."
He pushed against the leaf that held him and
found it to be soft, but thick and firm. It was
like a great bandage all around him and he
found it difficult to move his body or limbs in
order to change their position.
The minutes passed and became hours. Ojo
wondered how long one could live in such a
condition and if the leaf would gradually sap
his strength and even his life, in order to feed
itself. The little Munchkin boy had never heard
of any person dying in the Land of Oz, but he
knew one could suffer a great deal of pain. His
greatest fear at this time was that he would
always remain imprisoned in the beautiful leaf
and never see the light of day again.
No sound came to him through the leaf; all
around was intense silence. Ojo wondered if Scraps
had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the leaf
prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought he
heard a whistle, as of some one whistling a tune.
Yes; it really must be some one whistling, he
decided, for he could follow the strains of a
pretty Munchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to
sing to him. The sounds were low and sweet and,
although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly,
they were clear and harmonious.
Could the leaf whistle, Ojo wondered? Nearer and
nearer came the sounds and then they seemed to be
just the other side of the leaf that was hugging
him.
Suddenly the whole leaf toppled and fell,
carrying the boy with it, and while he sprawled at
full length the folds slowly relaxed and set him
free. He scrambled quickly to his feet and found
that a strange man was standing before him--a man
so curious in appearance that the boy stared with
round eyes.
He was a big man, with shaggy whiskers, shaggy
eyebrows, shaggy hair--but kindly blue eyes that
were gentle as those of a cow. On his head was a
green velvet hat with a jeweled band, which was
all shaggy around the brim. Rich but shaggy laces
were at his throat; a coat with shaggy edges was
decorated with diamond buttons; the velvet
breeches had jeweled buckles at the knees and
shags all around the bottoms. On his breast hung a
medallion bearing a picture of Princess Dorothy of
Oz, and in his hand, as he stood looking at Ojo,
was a sharp knife shaped like a dagger.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ojo, greatly astonished at the
sight of this stranger; and then he added: "Who
has saved me, sir?"
"Can't you see?" replied the other, with a
smile; "I'm the Shaggy Man."
"Yes; I can see that," said the boy, nodding.
"Was it you who rescued me from the leaf?"
"None other, you may be sure. But take care,
or I shall have to rescue you again."
Ojo gave a jump, for he saw several broad
leaves leaning toward him; but the Shaggy Man
began to whistle again, and at the sound the
leaves all straightened up on their stems and
kept still.
The man now took Ojo's arm and led him
up the road, past the last of the great plants,
and not till he was safely beyond their reach did
he cease his whistling.
"You see, the music charms 'em," said he.
"Singing or whistling--it doesn't matter which--
makes 'em behave, and nothing else will. I always
whistle as I go by 'em and so they always let me
alone. To-day as I went by, whistling, I saw a leaf
curled and knew there must be something inside it.
I cut down the leaf with my knife and--out you
popped. Lucky I passed by, wasn't it?"
"You were very kind," said Ojo, "and I thank
you. Will you please rescue my companions, also?"
"What companions?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"The leaves grabbed them all," said the boy.
"There's a Patchwork Girl and--"
"A what?"
"A girl made of patchwork, you know. She's
alive and her name is Scraps. And there's a
Glass Cat--"
"Glass?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"All glass."
"And alive?"
"Yes," said Ojo; "she has pink brains. And
there's a Woozy--"
"What's a Woozy?" inquired the Shaggy Man.
"Why, I--I--can't describe it," answered the
boy, greatly perplexed. "But it's a queer animal
with three hairs on the tip of its tail that won't
come out and--"
"What won't come out?" asked the Shaggy Man;
"the tail?"
"The hairs won't come out. But you'll see the
Woozy, if you'll please rescue it, and then you'll
know just what it is."
"Of course," said the Shaggy Man, nodding his
shaggy head. And then he walked back among the
plants, still whistling, and found the three
leaves which were curled around Ojo's traveling
companions. The first leaf he cut down released
Scraps, and on seeing her the Shaggy Man threw
back his shaggy head, opened wide his mouth and
laughed so shaggily and yet so merrily that Scraps
liked him at once. Then he took off his hat and
made her a low bow, saying:
"My dear, you're a wonder. I must introduce
you to my friend the Scarecrow."
When he cut down the second leaf he rescued the
Glass Cat, and Bungle was so frightened that she
scampered away like a streak and soon had joined
Ojo, when she sat beside him panting and
trembling. The last plant of all the row had
captured the Woozy, and a big bunch in the center
of the curled leaf showed plainly where he was.
With his sharp knife the Shaggy Man sliced off the
stem of the leaf and as it fell and unfolded out
trotted the Woozy and escaped beyond the reach of
any more of the dangerous plants.
Chapter Eleven
A Good Friend
Soon the entire party was gathered on the road of
yellow bricks, quite beyond the reach of the
beautiful but treacherous plants. The Shaggy Man,
staring first at one and then at the other, seemed
greatly pleased and interested.
"I've seen queer things since I came to the Land
of Oz," said he, "but never anything queerer than
this band of adventurers. Let us sit down a while,
and have a talk and get acquainted."
"Haven't you always lived in the Land of Oz?"
asked the Munchkin boy.
"No; I used to live in the big, outside world.
But I came here once with Dorothy, and Ozma
let me stay."
"How do you like Oz?" asked Scraps. "Isn't
the country and the climate grand?"
"It's the finest country in all the world, even
if it is a fairyland. and I'm happy every minute I
live in it," said the Shaggy Man. "But tell me
something about yourselves."
So Ojo related the story of his visit to the
house of the Crooked Magician, and how he met
there the Glass Cat, and how the Patchwork Girl
was brought to life and of the terrible accident
to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte. Then he told how he
had set out to find the five different things
which the Magician needed to make a charm that
would restore the marble figures to life, one
requirement being three hairs from a Woozy's tail.
"We found the Woozy," explained the boy,
"and he agreed to give us the three hairs; but
we couldn't pull them out. So we had to bring
the Woozy along with us."
"I see," returned the Shaggy Man, who had
listened with interest to the story. "But perhaps
I, who am big and strong, can pull those three
hairs from the Woozy's tail."
"Try it, if you like," said the Woozy.
So the Shaggy Man tried it, but pull as hard
as he could he failed to get the hairs out of the
Woozy's tail. So he sat down again and wiped
his shaggy face with a shaggy silk handkerchief
and said:
"It doesn't matter. If you can keep the Woozy
until you get the rest of the things you need,
you can take the beast and his three hairs to
the Crooked Magician and let him find a way
to extract 'em. What are the other things you are
to find?"
"One," said Ojo, "is a six-leaved clover."
"You ought to find that in the fields around
the Emerald City," said the Shaggy Man.
"There is a Law against picking six-leaved
clovers, but I think I can get Ozma to let you
have one."
"Thank you," replied Ojo. "The next thing
is the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"For that you must go to the Winkie Country,"
the Shaggy Man declared. "I've never noticed any
butterflies there, but that is the yellow country
of Oz and it's ruled by a good friend of mine,
the Tin Woodman."
"Oh, I've heard of him!" exclaimed Ojo. "He
must be a wonderful man."
"So he is, and his heart is wonderfully kind.
I'm sure the Tin Woodman will do all in his
power to help you to save your Unc Nunkie
and poor Margolotte."
"The next thing I must find," said the
Munchkin boy, "is a gill of water from a dark
well."
"Indeed! Well, that is more difficult," said
the Shaggy Man, scratching his left ear in a
puzzled way. "I've never heard of a dark well;
have you?"
"No," said Ojo.
"Do you know where one may be found?" inquired
the Shaggy Man.
"I can't imagine," said Ojo.
"Then we must ask the Scarecrow."
"The Scarecrow! But surely, sir, a scarecrow
can't know anything."
"Most scarecrows don't, I admit," answered
the Shaggy Man. "But this Scarecrow of whom
I speak is very intelligent. He claims to possess
the best brains in all Oz."
"Better than mine?" asked Scraps.
"Better than mine?" echoed the Glass Cat.
"Mine are pink, and you can see 'em work."
"Well, you can't see the Scarecrow's brains
work, but they do a lot of clever thinking,"
asserted the Shaggy Man. "If anyone knows where a
dark well is, it's my friend the Scarecrow."
"Where does he live?" inquired Ojo.
"He has a splendid castle in the Winkie
Country, near to the palace of his friend the
Tin Woodman, and he is often to be found in
the Emerald City, where he visits Dorothy at
the royal palace."
"Then we will ask him about the dark well,"
said Ojo.
"But what else does this Crooked Magician
want?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"A drop of oil from a live man's body."
"Oh; but there isn't such a thing."
"That is what I thought," replied Ojo; "but
the Crooked Magician said it wouldn't be called
for by the recipe if it couldn't be found, and
therefore I must search until I find it."
"I wish you good luck," said the Shaggy Man,
shaking his head doubtfully; "but I imagine
you'll have a hard job getting a drop of oil from
a live man's body. There's blood in a body, but
no oil."
"There's cotton in mine," said Scraps, dancing
a little jig.
"I don't doubt it," returned the Shaggy Man
admiringly. "You're a regular comforter and as
sweet as patchwork can be. All you lack is
dignity."
"I hate dignity," cried Scraps, kicking a pebble
high in the air and then trying to catch it as it
fell. "Half the fools and all the wise folks are
dignified, and I'm neither the one nor the other."
"She's just crazy," explained the Glass Cat.
The Shaggy Man laughed.
"She's delightful, in her way," he said. "I'm
sure Dorothy will be pleased with her, and the
Scarecrow will dote on her. Did you say you
were traveling toward the Emerald City?"
"Yes," replied Ojo. "I thought that the best
place to go, at first, because the six-leaved clover
may be found there."
"I'll go with you," said the Shaggy Man, "and
show you the way."
"Thank you," exclaimed Ojo. "I hope it won't
put you out any."
"No," said the other, "I wasn't going anywhere
in particular. I've been a rover all my life, and
although Ozma has given me a suite of beautiful
rooms in her palace I still get the wandering
fever once in a while and start out to roam the
country over. I've been away from the Emerald City
several weeks, this time, and now that I've met
you and your friends I'm sure it will interest me
to accompany you to the great city of Oz and
introduce you to my friends."
"That will be very nice," said the boy,
gratefully.
"I hope your friends are not dignified,"
observed Scraps.
"Some are, and some are not," he answered;
"but I never criticise my friends. If they are
really true friends, they may be anything they
like, for all of me."
"There's some sense in that," said Scraps,
nodding her queer head in approval. "Come on, and
let's get to the Emerald City as soon as
possible." With this she ran up the path, skipping
and dancing, and then turned to await them.
"It is quite a distance from here to the Emerald
City," remarked the Shaggy Man, "so we shall not
get there to-day, nor to-morrow. Therefore let us
take the jaunt in an easy manner. I'm an old
traveler and have found that I never gain anything
by being in a hurry. 'Take it easy' is my motto.
If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you
can."
After walking some distance over the road of
yellow bricks Ojo said he was hungry and would
stop to eat some bread and cheese. He offered a
portion of the food to the Shaggy Man, who thanked
him but refused it.
"When I start out on my travels," said he,
"I carry along enough square meals to last me
several weeks. Think I'll indulge in one now,
as long as we're stopping anyway."
Saying this, he took a bottle from his pocket
and shook from it a tablet about the size of one
of Ojo's finger-nails.
"That," announced the Shaggy Man, "is a square
meal, in condensed form. Invention of the great
Professor Woggle-Bug, of the Royal College of
Athletics. It contains soup, fish, roast meat,
salad, apple-dumplings, ice cream and chocolatedrops,
all boiled down to this small size, so it
can be conveniently carried and swallowed when you
are hungry and need a square meal."
"I'm square," said the Woozy. "Give me one,
please."
So the Shaggy Man gave the Woozy a tablet from
his bottle and the beast ate it in a twinkling.
"You have now had a six course dinner,"
declared the Shaggy Man.
"Pshaw!" said the Woozy, ungratefully, "I
want to taste something. There's no fun in that
sort of eating."
"One should only eat to sustain life," replied
the Shaggy Man, "and that tablet is equal to a
peck of other food."
"I don't care for it. I want something I can
chew and taste," grumbled the Woozy.
"You are quite wrong, my poor beast," said
the Shaggy Man in a tone of pity. "Think how
tired your jaws would get chewing a square
meal like this, if it were not condensed to the
size of a small tablet--which you can swallow
in a jiffy."
"Chewing isn't tiresome; it's fun, maintained
the Woozy. "I always chew the honey-bees when I
catch them. Give me some bread and cheese, Ojo."
"No, no! You've already eaten a big dinner!"
protested the Shaggy Man.
"May be," answered the Woozy; "but I guess
I'll fool myself by munching some bread and
cheese. I may not be hungry, having eaten all
those things you gave me, but I consider this
eating business a matter of taste, and I like to
realize what's going into me."
Ojo gave the beast what he wanted, but the
Shaggy Man shook his shaggy head reproachfully and
said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to
convince as a Woozy.
At this moment a patter of footsteps was heard,
and looking up they saw the live phonograph
standing before them. It seemed to have passed
through many adventures since Ojo and his comrades
last saw the machine, for the varnish of its
wooden case was all marred and dented and
scratched in a way that gave it an aged and
disreputable appearance.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard.
"What has happened to you?"
"Nothing much," replied the phonograph in
a sad and depressed voice. "I've had enough
things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock
a department store and furnish half a dozen
bargain-counters."
"Are you so broken up that you can't play?"
asked Scraps.
"No; I still am able to grind out delicious
music. Just now I've a record on tap that is
really superb," said the phonograph, growing more
cheerful.
"That is too bad," remarked Ojo. "We've no
objection to you as a machine, you know; but
as a music-maker we hate you."
"Then why was I ever invented?" demanded
the machine, in a tone of indignant protest.
They looked at one another inquiringly, but
no one could answer such a puzzling question.
Finally the Shaggy Man said:
"I'd like to hear the phonograph play."
Ojo sighed. "We've been very happy since we
met you, sir," he said.
"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes
one appreciate happiness more. Tell me, Phony,
what is this record like, which you say you have
on tap?"
"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands
the common people have gone wild over it."
"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then
it's dangerous."
"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the
phonograph. "Listen. This song will prove a
rare treat to you, I know. It made the author
rich--for an author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"
Then the phonograph began to play. A strain
of odd, jerky sounds was followed by these
words, sung by a man through his nose with
great vigor of expression:
"Ah wants mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu;
Ah wants mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!
Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu,
There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Here--shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man,
springing to his feet. "What do you mean by
such impertinence?"
"It's the latest popular song," declared the
phonograph, speaking in a sulky tone of voice.
"A popular song?"
"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember
the words of and those ignorant of music can
whistle or sing. That makes a popular song
popular, and the time is coming when it will take
the place of all other songs."
"That time won't come to us, just yet," said
the Shaggy Man, sternly: "I'm something of a
singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled
by any Lulus like your coal-black one. I shall
take you all apart, Mr. Phony, and scatter your
pieces far and wide over the country, as a matter
of kindness to the people you might meet if
allowed to run around loose. Having performed
this painful duty I shall--"
But before he could say more the phonograph
turned and dashed up the road as fast as its four
table-legs could carry it, and soon it had entirely
disappeared from their view.
The Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed
well pleased. "Some one else will save me the
trouble of scattering that phonograph," said he;
"for it is not possible that such a music-maker
can last long in the Land of Oz. When you are
rested, friends, let us go on our way."
During the afternoon the travelers found
themselves in a lonely and uninhabited part of the
country. Even the fields were no longer cultivated
and the country began to resemble a wilderness.
The road of yellow bricks seemed to have been
neglected and became uneven and more difficult to
walk upon. Scrubby under-brush grew on either side
of the way, while huge rocks were scattered around
in abundance.
But this did not deter Ojo and his friends from
trudging on, and they beguiled the journey with
jokes and cheerful conversation. Toward evening
they reached a crystal spring which gushed from a
tall rock by the roadside and near this spring
stood a deserted cabin. Said the Shaggy Man,
halting here:
"We may as well pass the night here, where
there is shelter for our heads and good water to
drink. Road beyond here is pretty bad; worst
we shall have to travel; so let's wait until
morning before we tackle it."
They agreed to this and Ojo found some brushwood
in the cabin and made a fire on the hearth. The
fire delighted Scraps, who danced before it until
Ojo warned her she might set fire to herself and
burn up. After that the Patchwork Girl kept at a
respectful distance from the darting flames, but
the Woozy lay down before the fire like a big dog
and seemed to enjoy its warmth.
For supper the Shaggy Man ate one of his
tablets, but Ojo stuck to his bread and cheese as
the most satisfying food. He also gave a portion
to the Woozy.
When darkness came on and they sat in a circle
on the cabin floor, facing the firelight--there
being no furniture of any sort in the place--Ojo
said to the Shaggy Man:
"Won't you tell us a story?"
"I'm not good at stories," was the reply; "but
I sing like a bird."
"Raven, or crow?" asked the Glass Cat.
"Like a song bird. I'll prove it. I'll sing a song
I composed myself. Don't tell anyone I'm a poet;
they might want me to write a book. Don't tell
'em I can sing, or they'd want me to make
records for that awful phonograph. Haven't
time to be a public benefactor, so I'll just sing
you this little song for your own amusement."
They were glad enough to be entertained,
and listened with interest while the Shaggy Man
chanted the following verses to a tune that was
not unpleasant:
"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwell
And fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,
Where magic is a science and where no one shows surprise
If some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.
Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;
She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decrees
To make her people happy, for her heart is kind and true
And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.
And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,
A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;
And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,
Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.
I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,
Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,
Nor old Professor Woggle-Bug, who's highly magnified
And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.
Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,
But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;
The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of wood
He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.
And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores--
The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,
And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,
Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.
There's Tik-Tok--he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight--
He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;
And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eat
But never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.
It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;
'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;
But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen
And Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.
Just search the whole world over--sail the seas from coast to coast--
No other nation in creation queerer folk can boast;
And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,
A Woozy, and--last but not least--a crazy Patchwork Lass."
Ojo was so pleased with this song that he
applauded the singer by clapping his hands, and
Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded
fingers together, although they made no noise.
The cat pounded on the floor with her glass
paws--gently, so as not to break them--and the
Woozy, which had been asleep, woke up to ask
what the row was about.
"I seldom sing in public, for fear they might
want me to start an opera company," remarked
the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his
effort was appreciated. "Voice, just now, is a
little out of training; rusty, perhaps."
"Tell me," said the Patchwork Girl earnestly,
"do all those queer people you mention really
live in the Land of Oz?"
"Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing:
Dorothy's Pink Kitten."
"For goodness sake!" exclaimed Bungle, sitting
up and looking interested. "A Pink Kitten? How
absurd! Is it glass?"
"No; just ordinary kitten."
"Then it can't amount to much. I have pink
brains, and you can see 'em work."
"Dorothy's kitten is all pink--brains and all--
except blue eyes. Name's Eureka. Great favorite at
the royal palace," said the Shaggy Man, yawning.
The Glass Cat seemed annoyed.
"Do you think a pink kitten--common meat--is as
pretty as I am?" she asked.
"Can't say. Tastes differ, you know," replied
the Shaggy Man, yawning again. "But here's a
pointer that may be of service to you: make
friends with Eureka and you'll be solid at the
palace."
"I'm solid now; solid glass."
"You don't understand," rejoined the Shaggy
Man, sleepily. "Anyhow, make friends with the
Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the Pink
Kitten despises you, look out for breakers."
"Would anyone at the royal palace break a
Glass Cat?"
"Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr
soft and look humble--if you can. And now I'm
going to bed."
Bungle considered the Shaggy Man's advice
so carefully that her pink brains were busy long
after the others of the party were fast asleep.
Chapter Twelve
The Giant Porcupine
Next morning they started out bright and early to
follow the road of yellow bricks toward the
Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was
beginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he
had a great many things to think of and consider
besides the events of the journey. At the
wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently
reach, were so many strange and curious people
that he was half afraid of meeting them and
wondered if they would prove friendly and kind.
Above all else, he could not drive from his mind
the important errand on which he had come, and he
was determined to devote every energy to finding
the things that were necessary to prepare
the magic recipe. He believed that until dear
Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel
no joy in anything, and often he wished that
Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing
things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now
a marble statue in the house of the Crooked
Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to
save him.
The country through which they were passing was
still rocky and deserted, with here and there a
bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo
noticed one tree, especially, because it had such
long, silky leaves and was so beautiful in shape.
As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly,
wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it bore
pretty flowers.
Suddenly he became aware that he had been
looking at that tree a long time--at least for
five minutes--and it had remained in the same
position, although the boy had continued to
walk steadily on. So he stopped short. and when
he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as
well as his companions, moved on before him
and left him far behind.
Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that
it aroused the Shaggy Man, who also halted.
The others then stopped, too, and walked back
to the boy.
"What's wrong?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no
matter how fast we walk," declared Ojo. "Now
that we have stopped, we are moving backward!
Can't you see? Just notice that rock."
Scraps looked down at her feet and said:
"The yellow bricks are not moving."
"But the whole road is," answered Ojo.
"True; quite true," agreed the Shaggy Man.
"I know all about the tricks of this road, but I
have been thinking of something else and didn't
realize where we were."
"It will carry us back to where we started
from," predicted Ojo, beginning to be nervous.
"No," replied the Shaggy Man; "it won't do
that, for I know a trick to beat this tricky road.
I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn
around, all of you, and walk backward."
"What good will that do?" asked the cat.
"You'll find out, if you obey me," said the
Shaggy Man.
So they all turned their backs to the direction
in which they wished to go and began walking
backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were
gaining ground and as they proceeded in this
curious way they soon passed the tree which had
first attracted his attention to their difficulty.
"How long must we keep this up, Shags?"
asked Scraps, who was constantly tripping and
tumbling down, only to get up again with a
laugh at her mishap.
"Just a little way farther," replied the Shaggy
Man.
A few minutes later he called to them to turn
about quickly and step forward, and as they
obeyed the order they found themselves treading
solid ground.
"That task is well over," observed the Shaggy
Man. "It's a little tiresome to walk backward, but
that is the only way to pass this part of the
road, which has a trick of sliding back and
carrying with it anyone who is walking upon it."
With new courage and energy they now
trudged forward and after a time came to a
place where the road cut through a low hill,
leaving high banks on either side of it. They
were traveling along this cut, talking together,
when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one
arm and Ojo with another and shouted: "Stop!"
"What's wrong now?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"See there!" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing
with his finger.
Directly in the center of the road lay a
motionless object that bristled all over with
sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was
as big as a ten-bushel-basket, but the projecting
quills made it appear to be four times bigger.
"Well, what of it?" asked Scraps.
"That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble
along this road," was the reply.
"Chiss! What is Chiss?
"I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine,
but here in Oz they consider Chiss an evil spirit.
He's different from a reg'lar porcupine, because
he can throw his quills in any direction, which
an American porcupine cannot do. That's what
makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too
near, he'll fire those quills at us and hurt us
badly."
"Then we will be foolish to get too near,"
said Scraps.
"I'm not afraid," declared the Woozy. "The Chiss
is cowardly, I'm sure, and if it ever heard my
awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be
scared stiff."
"Oh; can you growl?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"That is the only ferocious thing about me,"
asserted the Woozy with evident pride. "My growl
makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed
of itself. If I growled at that creature you call
Chiss, it would immediately think the world had
cracked in two and bumped against the sun and
moon, and that would cause the monster to run as
far and as fast as its legs could carry it."
"In that case," said the Shaggy Man, "you are
now able to do us all a great favor. Please
growl."
"But you forget," returned the Woozy; "my
tremendous growl would also frighten you, and
if you happen to have heart disease you might
expire."
"True; but we must take that risk," decided
the Shaggy Man, bravely. "Being warned of
what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific
noise of your growl; but Chiss won't expect it,
and it will scare him away."
The Woozy hesitated.
"I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you,"
it said.
"Never mind," said Ojo.
"You may be made deaf."
"If so, we will forgive you."
"Very well, then," said the Woozy in a
determined voice, and advanced a few steps toward
the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it
asked: "All ready?"
"All ready!" they answered.
"Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves
firmly. Now, then--look out!"
The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its
mouth and said:
"Quee-ee-ee-eek."
"Go ahead and growl," said Scraps.
"Why, I--I did growl!" retorted the Woozy,
who seemed much astonished.
"What, that little squeak?" she cried.
"It is the most awful growl that ever was heard,
on land or sea, in caverns or in the sky,"
protested the Woozy. "I wonder you stood the shock
so well. Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I
suppose Chiss is now quite dead with fright."
The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.
"Poor Wooz!" said he; "your growl wouldn't
scare a fly."
The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised.
It hung its head a moment, as if in shame or
sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence:
"Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire,
too; good enough to set fire to a fence!"
"That is true," declared Scraps; "I saw it
done myself. But your ferocious growl isn't as
loud as the tick of a beetle--or one of Ojo's
snores when he's fast asleep."
"Perhaps," said the Woozy, humbly, "I have
been mistaken about my growl. It has always
sounded very fearful to me, but that may have
been because it was so close to my ears."
"Never mind," Ojo said soothingly; "it is a
great talent to be able to flash fire from your
eyes. No one else can do that."
As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss
stirred and suddenly a shower of quills came
flying toward them, almost filling the air, they
were so many. Scraps realized in an instant that
they had gone too near to Chiss for safety, so
she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him
from the darts, which stuck their points into her
own body until she resembled one of those
targets they shoot arrows at in archery games.
The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to
avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in
the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat,
the quills rattled off her body without making
even a scratch, and the skin of the Woozy was
so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.
When the attack was over they all ran to the
Shaggy Man, who was moaning and groaning, and
Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg.
Then up he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting
his foot on the monster's neck and holding it a
prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now
as smooth as leather, except for the holes where
the quills had been, for it had shot every single
quill in that one wicked shower.
"Let me go!" it shouted angrily. "How dare
you put your foot on Chiss?"
"I'm going to do worse than that, old boy,"
replied the Shaggy Man. "You have annoyed
travelers on this road long enough, and now
I shall put an end to you."
"You can't!" returned Chiss. "Nothing can
kill me, as you know perfectly well."
"Perhaps that is true," said the Shaggy Man
in a tone of disappointment. "Seems to me I've
been told before that you can't be killed. But if
I let you go, what will you do?"
"Pick up my quills again," said Chiss in a
sulky voice.
"And then shoot them at more travelers? No;
that won't do. You must promise me to stop
throwing quills at people."
"I won't promise anything of the sort," declared
Chiss.
"Why not?"
"Because it is my nature to throw quills, and
every animal must do what Nature intends it
to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were
wrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn't
be made with quills to throw. The proper thing
for you to do is to keep out of my way."
"Why, there's some sense in that argument,"
admitted the Shaggy Man, thoughtfully; "but
people who are strangers, and don't know you
are here, won't be able to keep out of your way."
"Tell you what," said Scraps, who was trying
to pull the quills out of her own body, "let's
gather up all the quills and take them away with
us; then old Chiss won't have any left to throw
at people."
"Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must
gather up the quills while I hold Chiss a
prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of
his quills and be able to throw them again."
So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills
and tied them in a bundle so they might easily
be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released
Chiss and let him go, knowing that he was
harmless to injure anyone.
"It's the meanest trick I ever heard of,"
muttered the porcupine gloomily. "How would you
like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away
from you?"
"If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would
be welcome to capture them," was the reply.
Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in
the road sullen and disconsolate. The Shaggy Man
limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt him,
and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills
had left a number of small holes in her patches.
When they came to a flat stone by the roadside
the Shaggy Man sat down to rest, and then Ojo
opened his basket and took out the bundle of
charms the Crooked Magician had given him.
"I am Ojo the Unlucky," he said, "or we would
never have met that dreadful porcupine. But I will
see if I can find anything among these charms
which will cure your leg."
Soon he discovered that one of the charms
was labelled: "For flesh wounds," and this the
boy separated from the others. It was only a bit
of dried root, taken from some unknown shrub,
but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by
the quill and in a few moments the place was
healed entirely and the Shaggy Man's leg was
as good as ever.
"Rub it on the holes in my patches," suggested
Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but without any effect.
"The charm you need is a needle and thread,"
said the Shaggy Man. "But do not worry, my
dear; those holes do not look badly, at all."
"They'll let in the air, and I don't want people
to think I'm airy, or that I've been stuck
up," said the Patchwork Girl.
"You were certainly stuck up until we pulled
out those quills," observed Ojo, with a laugh.
So now they went on again and coming presently
to a pond of muddy water they tied a heavy stone
to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom
of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.
Chapter Thirteen
Scraps and the Scarecrow
From here on the country improved and the desert
places began to give way to fertile spots; still
no houses were yet to be seen near the road. There
were some hills, with valleys between them, and on
reaching the top of one of these hills the
travelers found before them a high wall, running
to the right and the left as far as their eyes
could reach. Immediately in front of them, where
the wall crossed the roadway, stood a gate having
stout iron bars that extended from top to bottom.
They found, on coming nearer, that this gate was
locked with a great padlock, rusty through lack of
use.
"Well," said Scraps, "I guess we'll stop here."
"It's a good guess," replied Ojo. "Our way is
barred by this great wall and gate. It looks as if
no one had passed through in many years."
"Looks are deceiving," declared the Shaggy Man,
laughing at their disappointed faces, "and this
barrier is the most deceiving thing in all Oz."
"It prevents our going any farther, anyhow,"
said Scraps. "There is no one to mind the gate
and let people through, and we've no key to
the padlock."
"True," replied Ojo, going a little nearer to
peep through the bars of the gate. "What shall we
do, Shaggy Man? If we had wings we might fly over
the wall, but we cannot climb it and unless we get
to the Emerald City I won't be able to find the
things to restore Unc Nunkie to life."
"All very true," answered the Shaggy Man,
quietly; "but I know this gate, having passed
through it many times."
"How?" they all eagerly inquired.
"I'll show you how," said he. He stood Ojo
in the middle of the road and placed Scraps
just behind him, with her padded hands on his
shoulders. After the Patchwork Girl came the
Woozy, who held a part of her skirt in his
mouth. Then, last of all, was the Glass Cat,
holding fast to the Woozy's tail with her glass
jaws.
"Now," said the Shaggy Man, "you must all
shut your eyes tight, and keep them shut until
I tell you to open them."
"I can't," objected Scraps. "My eyes are buttons,
and they won't shut."
So the Shaggy Man tied his red handkerchief over
the Patchwork Girl's eyes and examined all the
others to make sure they had their eyes fast shut
and could see nothing.
"What's the game, anyhow--blind-man's-buff?"
asked Scraps.
"Keep quiet!" commanded the Shaggy Man,
sternly. "All ready? Then follow me."
He took Ojo's hand and led him forward over the
road of yellow bricks, toward the gate. Holding
fast to one another they all followed in a row,
expecting every minute to bump against the iron
bars. The Shaggy Man also had his eyes closed, but
marched straight ahead, nevertheless, and after
he had taken one hundred steps, by actual count,
he stopped and said:
"Now you may open your eyes."
They did so, and to their astonishment found
the wall and the gateway far behind them,
while in front the former Blue Country of the
Munchkins had given way to green fields, with
pretty farm-houses scattered among them.
"That wall," explained the Shaggy Man, "is
what is called an optical illusion. It is quite real
while you have your eyes open, but if you are
not looking at it the barrier doesn't exist at all.
It's the same way with many other evils in life;
they seem to exist, and yet it's all seeming and
not true. You will notice that the wall--or what
we thought was a wall--separates the Munchkin
Country from the green country that surrounds
the Emerald City, which lies exactly in the
center of Oz. There are two roads of yellow
bricks through the Munchkin Country, but the
one we followed is the best of the two. Dorothy
once traveled the other way, and met with more
dangers than we did. But all our troubles are
over for the present, as another day's journey
will bring us to the great Emerald City."
They were delighted to know this, and proceeded
with new courage. In a couple of hours they
stopped at a farmhouse, where the people were very
hospitable and invited them to dinner. The farm
folk regarded Scraps with much curiosity but no
great astonishment, for they were accustomed to
seeing extraordinary people in the Land of Oz.
The woman of this house got her needle and
thread and sewed up the holes made by the
porcupine quills in the Patchwork Girl's body,
after which Scraps was assured she looked as
beautiful as ever.
"You ought to have a hat to wear," remarked
the woman, "for that would keep the sun from
fading the colors of your face. I have some
patches and scraps put away, and if you will
wait two or three days I'll make you a lovely
hat that will match the rest of you."
"Never mind the hat," said Scraps, shaking
her yarn braids; "it's a kind offer, but we can't
stop. I can't see that my colors have faded a
particle, as yet; can you?"
"Not much," replied the woman. "You are still
very gorgeous, in spite of your long journey."
The children of the house wanted to keep the
Glass Cat to play with, so Bungle was offered
a good home if she would remain; but the cat
was too much interested in Ojo's adventures and
refused to stop.
"Children are rough playmates," she remarked to
the Shaggy Man, "and although this home is more
pleasant than that of the Crooked Magician I fear
I would soon be smashed to pieces by the boys and
girls."
After they had rested themselves they renewed
their journey, finding the road now smooth and
pleasant to walk upon and the country growing more
beautiful the nearer they drew to the Emerald
City.
By and by Ojo began to walk on the green
grass, looking carefully around him.
"What are you trying to find?" asked Scraps.
"A six-leaved clover," said he.
"Don't do that!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man,
earnestly. "It's against the Law to pick a sixleaved
clover. You must wait until you get Ozma's
consent."
"She wouldn't know it," declared the boy.
"Ozma knows many things," said the Shaggy Man.
"In her room is a Magic Picture that shows any
scene in the Land of Oz where strangers or
travelers happen to be. She may be watching the
picture of us even now, and noticing everything
that we do."
"Does she always watch the Magic Picture?"
asked Ojo.
"Not always, for she has many other things
to do; but, as I said, she may be watching us
this very minute."
"I don't care," said Ojo, in an obstinate tone
of voice; "Ozma's only a girl."
The Shaggy Man looked at him in surprise.
"You ought to care for Ozma," said he, "if you
expect to save your uncle. For, if you displease
our powerful Ruler, your journey will surely prove
a failure; whereas, if you make a friend of Ozma,
she will gladly assist you. As for her being a
girl, that is another reason why you should obey
her laws, if you are courteous and polite.
Everyone in Oz loves Ozma and hates her enemies,
for she is as just as she is powerful."
Ojo sulked a while, but finally returned to the
road and kept away from the green clover. The
boy was moody and bad tempered for an hour
or two afterward, because he could really see
no harm in picking a six-leaved clover, if he
found one, and in spite of what the Shaggy
Man had said he considered Ozma's law to be
unjust.
They presently came to a beautiful grove of tall
and stately trees, through which the road wound in
sharp curves--first one way and then another. As
they were walking through this grove they heard
some one in the distance singing, and the sounds
grew nearer and nearer until they could
distinguish the words, although the bend in the
road still hid the singer. The song was something
like this:
"Here's to the hale old bale of straw
That's cut from the waving grain,
The sweetest sight man ever saw
In forest, dell or plain.
It fills me with a crunkling joy
A straw-stack to behold,
For then I pad this lucky boy
With strands of yellow gold."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man; "here comes my
friend the Scarecrow."
"What, a live Scarecrow?" asked Ojo.
"Yes; the one I told you of. He's a splendid
fellow, and very intelligent. You'll like him,
I'm sure."
Just then the famous Scarecrow of Oz came
around the bend in the road, riding astride a
wooden Sawhorse which was so small that its
rider's legs nearly touched the ground.
The Scarecrow wore the blue dress of the
Munchkins, in which country he was made,
and on his head was set a peaked hat with a flat
brim trimmed with tinkling bells. A rope was
tied around his waist to hold him in shape, for
he was stuffed with straw in every part of him
except the top of his head, where at one time
the Wizard of Oz had placed sawdust, mixed
with needles and pins, to sharpen his wits. The
head itself was merely a bag of cloth, fastened
to the body at the neck, and on the front of this
bag was painted the face--ears, eyes, nose and
mouth.
The Scarecrow's face was very interesting, for
it bore a comical and yet winning expression,
although one eye was a bit larger than the other
and ears were not mates. The Munchkin farmer who
had made the Scarecrow had neglected to sew him
together with close stitches and therefore some of
the straw with which he was stuffed was inclined
to stick out between the seams. His hands
consisted of padded white gloves, with the fingers
long and rather limp, and on his feet he wore
Munchkin boots of blue leather with broad turns at
the tops of them.
The Sawhorse was almost as curious as its rider.
It had been rudely made, in the beginning, to saw
logs upon, so that its body was a short length of
a log, and its legs were stout branches fitted
into four holes made in the body. The tail was
formed by a small branch that had been left on the
log, while the head was a gnarled bump on one end
of the body. Two knots of wood formed the eyes,
and the mouth was a gash chopped in the log. When
the Sawhorse first came to life it had no ears at
all, and so could not hear; but the boy who then
owned him had whittled two ears out of bark and
stuck them in the head, after which the Sawhorse
heard very distinctly.
This queer wooden horse was a great favorite
with Princess Ozma, who had caused the bottoms of
its legs to be shod with plates of gold, so the
wood would not wear away. 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. "But, tell me, good sir, are you not a
trifle lumpy?"
"Yes, of course; that's my straw, you know.
It bunches up, sometimes, in spite of all my
efforts to keep it even. Doesn't your straw ever
bunch?"
"Oh, I'm stuffed with cotton," said Scraps.
"It never bunches, but it's inclined to pack down
and make me sag."
"But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say
it is even more stylish, not to say aristocratic,
than straw," said the Scarecrow politely. "Still,
it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely
should have the best stuffing there is going. I--
er--I'm so glad I've met you, Miss Scraps!
Introduce us again, Shaggy."
"Once is enough," replied the Shaggy Man,
laughing at his friend's enthusiasm.
"Then tell me where you found her, and--Dear me,
what a queer cat! What are you made of--gelatine?"
"Pure glass," answered the cat, proud to have
attracted the Scarecrow's attention. "I am much
more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I'm
transparent, and Scraps isn't; I've pink brains--
you can see 'em work; and I've a ruby heart,
finely polished, while Scraps hasn't any heart at
all."
"No more have I," said the Scarecrow, shaking
hands with Scraps, as if to congratulate her on
the fact. "I've a friend, the Tin Woodman, who has
a heart, but I find I get along pretty well
without one. And so--Well, well! here's a little
Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my little man. How
are you?"
Ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove
that served the Scarecrow for a hand, and the
Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the straw
in his glove crackled.
Meantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse
and begun to sniff at it. The Sawhorse resented
this familiarity and with a sudden kick pounded
the Woozy squarely on its head with one gold-shod
foot.
"Take that, you monster!" it cried angrily.
The Woozy never even winked.
"To be sure," he said; "I'll take anything I
have to. But don't make me angry, you wooden
beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you
up."
The Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly
and kicked again, but the Woozy trotted away
and said to the Scarecrow:
"What a sweet disposition that creature has!
I advise you to chop it up for kindling-wood
and use me to ride upon. My back is flat and
you can't fall off."
"I think the trouble is that you haven't been
properly introduced," said the Scarecrow,
regarding the Woozy with much wonder, for he had
never seen such a queer animal before.
"The Sawhorse is the favorite steed of Princess
Ozma, the Ruler of the Land of Oz, and he lives in
a stable decorated with pearls and emeralds, at
the rear of the royal palace. He is swift as the
wind, untiring, and is kind to his friends. All
the people of Oz respect the Sawhorse highly, and
when I visit Ozma she sometimes allows me to ride
him--as I am doing to-day. Now you know what an
important personage the Sawhorse is, and if some
one--perhaps yourself--will tell me your name,
your rank and station, and your history, it will
give me pleasure to relate them to the Sawhorse.
This will lead to mutual respect and friendship."
The Woozy was somewhat abashed by this speech
and did not know how to reply. But Ojo said:
"This square beast is called the Woozy, and he
isn't of much importance except that he has three
hairs growing on the tip of his tail."
The Scarecrow looked and saw that this was true.
"But," said he, in a puzzled way, "what makes
those three hairs important? The Shaggy Man has
thousands of hairs, but no one has ever accused
him of being important."
So Ojo related the sad story of Unc Nunkie's
transformation into a marble statue, and told how
he had set out to find the things the Crooked
Magician wanted, in order to make a charm that
would restore his uncle to life. One of the
requirements was three hairs from a Woozy's tail,
but not being able to pull out the hairs they had
been obliged to take the Woozy with them.
The Scarecrow looked grave as he listened and he
shook his head several times, as if in
disapproval.
"We must see Ozma about this matter," he
said. "That Crooked Magician is breaking the
Law by practicing magic without a license, and
I'm not sure Ozma will allow him to restore your
uncle to life."
"Already I have warned the boy of that,"
declared the Shaggy Man.
At this Ojo began to cry. "I want my Unc
Nunkie!" he exclaimed. "I know how he can be
restored to life, and I'm going to do it--Ozma or
no Ozma! What right has this girl Ruler to keep my
Unc Nunkie a statue forever?"
"Don't worry about that just now," advised
the Scarecrow. "Go on to the Emerald City,
and when you reach it have the Shaggy Man
take you to see Dorothy. Tell her your story and
I'm sure she will help you. Dorothy is Ozma's
best friend, and if you can win her to your side
your uncle is pretty safe to live again." Then he
turned to the Woozy and said: "I'm afraid you
are not important enough to be introduced to
the Sawhorse, after all."
"I'm a better beast than he is," retorted the
Woozy, indignantly. "My eyes can flash fire, and
his can't."
"Is this true?" inquired the Scarecrow, turning
to the Munchkin boy.
"Yes," said Ojo, and told how the Woozy had
set fire to the fence.
"Have you any other accomplishments?"
asked the Scarecrow.
"I have a most terrible growl--that is,
sometimes," said the Woozy, as Scraps laughed
merrily and the Shaggy Man smiled. But the Patchwork
Girl's laugh made the Scarecrow forget all
about the Woozy. He said to her:
"What an admirable young lady you are, and
what jolly good company! We must be better
acquainted, for never before have I met a girl
with such exquisite coloring or such natural,
artless manners."
"No wonder they call you the Wise Scarecrow,"
replied Scraps.
"When you arrive at the Emerald City I will see
you again," continued the Scarecrow. "Just now I
am going to call upon an old friend--an ordinary
young lady named Jinjur--who has promised to
repaint my left ear for me. You may have noticed
that the paint on my left ear has peeled off and
faded, which affects my hearing on that side.
Jinjur always fixes me up when I get weatherworn."
"When do you expect to return to the Emerald
City?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"I'll be there this evening, for I'm anxious
to have a long talk with Miss Scraps. How is it,
Sawhorse; are you equal to a swift run?"
"Anything that suits you suits me," returned
the wooden horse.
So the Scarecrow mounted to the jeweled
saddle and waved his hat, when the Sawhorse
darted away so swiftly that they were out of
sight in an instant.
Chapter Fourteen
Ojo Breaks the Law
"What a queer man," remarked the Munchkin boy,
when the party had resumed its journey.
"And so nice and polite," added Scraps, bobbing
her head. "I think he is the handsomest man I've
seen since I came to life."
"Handsome is as handsome does," quoted the
Shaggy Man; "but we must admit that no living
scarecrow is handsomer. The chief merit of my
friend is that he is a great thinker, and in Oz it
is considered good policy to follow his advice."
"I didn't notice any brains in his head,"
observed the Glass Cat.
"You can't see 'em work, but they're there, all
right," declared the Shaggy Man. "I hadn't much
confidence in his brains myself, when first I came
to Oz, for a humbug Wizard gave them to him; but I
was soon convinced that the Scarecrow is really
wise; and, unless his brains make him so, such
wisdom is unaccountable."
"Is the Wizard of Oz a humbug?" asked Ojo.
"Not now. He was once, but he has reformed
and now assists Glinda the Good, who is the
Royal Sorceress of Oz and the only one licensed
to practice magic or sorcery. Glinda has taught
our old Wizard a good many clever things, so
he is no longer a humbug."
They walked a little while in silence and
then Ojo said:
"If Ozma forbids the Crooked Magician to
restore Unc Nunkie to life, what shall I do?"
The Shaggy Man shook his head.
"In that case you can't do anything," he said.
"But don't be discouraged yet. We will go to
Princess Dorothy and tell her your troubles, and
then we will let her talk to Ozma. Dorothy has the
kindest little heart in the world, and she has
been through so many troubles herself that she is
sure to sympathize with you."
"Is Dorothy the little girl who came here from
Kansas?" asked the boy.
"Yes. In Kansas she was Dorothy Gale. I used to
know her there, and she brought me to the Land of
Oz. But now Ozma has made her a Princess, and
Dorothy's Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are here, too."
Here the Shaggy Man uttered a long sigh, and then
he continued: "It's a queer country, this Land of
Oz; but I like it, nevertheless."
"What is queer about it?" asked Scraps.
"You, for instance," said he.
"Did you see no girls as beautiful as I am in
your own country?" she inquired.
"None with the same gorgeous, variegated
beauty," he confessed. "In America a girl stuffed
with cotton wouldn't be alive, nor would anyone
think of making a girl out of a patchwork quilt."
"What a queer country America must be!" she
exclaimed in great surprise. "The Scarecrow, whom
you say is wise, told me I am the most beautiful
creature he has ever seen."
"I know; and perhaps you are--from a scarecrow
point of view," replied the Shaggy Man; but why he
smiled as he said it Scraps could not imagine.
As they drew nearer to the Emerald City the
travelers were filled with admiration for the
splendid scenery they beheld. Handsome houses
stood on both sides of the road and each had a
green lawn before it as well as a pretty flower
garden.
"In another hour," said the Shaggy Man, "we
shall come in sight of the walls of the Royal
City."
He was walking ahead, with Scraps, and behind
them came the Woozy and the Glass Cat. Ojo had
lagged behind, for in spite of the warnings he
had received the boy's eyes were fastened on the
clover that bordered the road of yellow bricks and
he was eager to discover if such a thing as a
six-leaved clover really existed.
Suddenly he stopped short and bent over to
examine the ground more closely. Yes; here at last
was a clover with six spreading leaves. He counted
them carefully, to make sure. In an instant his
heart leaped with joy, for this was one of the
important things he had come for--one of the
things that would restore dear Unc Nunkie to life.
He glanced ahead and saw that none of his
companions was looking back. Neither were any
other people about, for it was midway between
two houses. The temptation was too strong to
be resisted.
"I might search for weeks and weeks, and
never find another six-leaved clover," he told
himself, and quickly plucking the stem from the
plant he placed the prized clover in his basket,
covering it with the other things he carried
there. Then, trying to look as if nothing had
happened, he hurried forward and overtook his
comrades.
The Emerald City, which is the most splendid as
well as the most beautiful city in any fairyland,
is surrounded by a high, thick wall of green
marble, polished smooth and set with glistening
emeralds. There are four gates, one facing the
Munchkin Country, one facing the Country of the
Winkies, one facing the Country of the Quadlings
and one facing the Country of the Gillikins. The
Emerald City lies directly in the center of these
four important countries of Oz. The gates had bars
of pure gold, and on either side of each gateway
were built high towers, from which floated gay
banners. Other towers were set at distances along
the walls, which were broad enough for four people
to walk abreast upon.
This enclosure, all green and gold and
glittering with precious gems, was indeed a
wonderful sight to greet our travelers, who first
observed it from the top of a little hill; but
beyond the wall was the vast city it surrounded,
and hundreds of jeweled spires, domes and
minarets, flaunting flags and banners, reared
their crests far above the towers of the gateways.
In the center of the city our friends could see
the tops of many magnificent trees, some nearly as
tall as the spires of the buildings, and the
Shaggy Man told them that these trees were in the
royal gardens of Princess Ozma.
They stood a long time on the hilltop, feasting
their eyes on the splendor of the Emerald City.
"Whee!" exclaimed Scraps, clasping her padded
hands in ecstacy, "that'll do for me to live in,
all right. No more of the Munchkin Country for
these patches--and no more of the Crooked
Magician!"
"Why, you belong to Dr. Pipt," replied Ojo,
looking at her in amazement. "You were made for a
servant, Scraps, so you are personal property and
not your own mistress."
"Bother Dr. Pipt! If he wants me, let him
come here and get me. I'll not go back to his
den of my own accord; that's certain. Only one
place in the Land of Oz is fit to live in, and
that's the Emerald City. It's lovely! It's almost
as beautiful as I am, Ojo."
"In this country," remarked the Shaggy Man,
"people live wherever our Ruler tells them to. It
wouldn't do to have everyone live in the Emerald
City, you know, for some must plow the land and
raise grains and fruits and vegetables, while
others chop wood in the forests, or fish in the
rivers, or herd the sheep and the cattle."
"Poor things!" said Scraps.
"I'm not sure they are not happier than the city
people," replied the Shaggy Man. "There's a
freedom and independence in country life that not
even the Emerald City can give one. I know that
lots of the city people would like to get back to
the land. The Scarecrow lives in the country, and
so do the Tin Woodman and Jack Pumpkinhead; yet
all three would be welcome to live in Ozma's
palace if they cared to. Too much splendor becomes
tiresome, you know. But, if we're to reach the
Emerald City before sundown, we must hurry, for it
is yet a long way off."
The entrancing sight of the city had put new
energy into them all and they hurried forward
with lighter steps than before. There was much
to interest them along the roadway, for the
houses were now set more closely together and
they met a good many people who were coming
or going from one place or another. All these
seemed happy-faced, pleasant people, who
nodded graciously to the strangers as they
passed, and exchanged words of greeting.
At last they reached the great gateway, just
as the sun was setting and adding its red glow
to the glitter of the emeralds on the green walls
and spires. Somewhere inside the city a band
could be heard playing sweet music; a soft,
subdued hum, as of many voices, reached their
ears; from the neighboring yards came the low
mooing of cows waiting to be milked.
They were almost at the gate when the golden
bars slid back and a tall soldier stepped out and
faced them. Ojo thought he had never seen so
tall a man before. The soldier wore a handsome
green and gold uniform, with a tall hat in which
was a waving plume, and he had a belt thickly
encrusted with jewels. But the most peculiar
thing about him was his long green beard,
which fell far below his waist and perhaps
made him seem taller than he really was.
"Halt!" said the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, not in a stern voice but rather in a
friendly tone.
They halted before he spoke and stood looking at
him.
"Good evening, Colonel," said the Shaggy
Man. "What's the news since I left? Anything
important?"
"Billina has hatched out thirteen new chickens,"
replied the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, "and
they're the cutest little fluffy yellow balls you
ever saw. The Yellow Hen is mighty proud of those
children, I can tell you."
"She has a right to be," agreed the Shaggy
Man. "Let me see; that's about seven thousand
chicks she has hatched out; isn't it, General?"
"That, at least," was the reply. "You will have
to visit Billina and congratulate her."
"It will give me pleasure to do that," said the
Shaggy Man. "But you will observe that I have
brought some strangers home with me. I am
going to take them to see Dorothy."
"One moment, please," said the soldier, barring
their way as they started to enter the gate. "I am
on duty, and I have orders to execute. Is anyone
in your party named Ojo the Unlucky?"
"Why, that's me!" cried Ojo, astonished at
hearing his name on the lips of a stranger.
The Soldier with the Green Whiskers nodded. "I
thought so," said he, "and I am sorry to announce
that it is my painful duty to arrest you."
"Arrest me!" exclaimed the boy. "What for?"
"I haven't looked to see," answered the soldier.
Then he drew a paper from his breast pocket and
glanced at it. "Oh, yes; you are to be arrested
for willfully breaking one of the Laws of Oz."
"Breaking a law!" said Scraps. "Nonsense,
Soldier; you're joking."
"Not this time," returned the soldier, with a
sigh. "My dear child--what are you, a rummage sale
or a guess-me-quick?--in me you behold the Body-
Guard of our gracious Ruler, Princess Ozma, as
well as the Royal Army of Oz and the Police Force
of the Emerald City."
"And only one man!" exclaimed the Patchwork Girl.
"Only one, and plenty enough. In my official
positions I've had nothing to do for a good many
years--so long that I began to fear I was
absolutely useless--until to-day. An hour ago I was
called to the presence of her Highness, Ozma of
Oz, and told to arrest a boy named Ojo the
Unlucky, who was journeying from the Munchkin
Country to the Emerald City and would arrive in a
short time. This command so astonished me that I
nearly fainted, for it is the first time anyone
has merited arrest since I can remember. You are
rightly named Ojo the Unlucky, my poor boy, since
you have broken a Law of Oz.
"But you are wrong," said Scraps. "Ozma is
wrong--you are all wrong--for Ojo has broken no
Law."
"Then he will soon be free again," replied the
Soldier with the Green Whiskers. "Anyone accused
of crime is given a fair trial by our Ruler and
has every chance to prove his innocence. But just
now Ozma's orders must be obeyed."
With this he took from his pocket a pair of
handcuffs made of gold and set with rubies and
diamonds, and these he snapped over Ojo's wrists.
Chapter Fifteen
Ozma's Prisoner
The boy was so bewildered by this calamity that he
made no resistance at all. He knew very well he
was guilty, but it surprised him that Ozma also
knew it. He wondered how she had found out so soon
that he had picked the six-leaved clover. He
handed his basket to Scraps and said:
"Keep that, until I get out of prison. If I
never get out, take it to the Crooked Magician, to
whom it belongs."
The Shaggy Man had been gazing earnestly in the
boy's face, uncertain whether to defend him or
not; but something he read in Ojo's expression
made him draw back and refuse to interfere to save
him. The Shaggy Man was greatly surprised and
grieved, but he knew that Ozma never made mistakes
and so Ojo must really have broken the Law of Oz.
The Soldier with the Green Whiskers now led them
all through the gate and into a little room built
in the wall. Here sat a jolly little man, richly
dressed in green and having around his neck a
heavy gold chain to which a number of great golden
keys were attached. This was the Guardian of the
Gate and at the moment they entered his room he
was playing a tune upon a mouth-organ.
"Listen!" he said, holding up his hand for
silence. "I've just composed a tune called 'The
Speckled Alligator.' It's in patch-time, which is
much superior to rag-time, and I've composed it in
honor of the Patchwork Girl, who has just
arrived."
"How did you know I had arrived?" asked Scraps,
much interested.
"It's my business to know who's coming, for I'm
the Guardian of the Gate. Keep quiet while I play
you 'The Speckled Alligator.'"
It wasn't a very bad tune, nor a very good one,
but all listened respectfully while he shut his
eyes and swayed his head from side to side and
blew the notes from the little instrument. When it
was all over the Soldier with the Green Whiskers
said:
"Guardian, I have here a prisoner."
"Good gracious! A prisoner?" cried the little
man, jumping up from his chair. "Which one? Not
the Shaggy Man?"
"No; this boy."
"Ah; I hope his fault is as small as himself,"
said the Guardian of the Gate. "But what can he
have done, and what made him do it?"
"Can't say," replied the soldier. "All I know
is that he has broken the Law."
"But no one ever does that!"
"Then he must be innocent, and soon will be
released. I hope you are right, Guardian. Just now
I am ordered to take him to prison. Get me a
prisoner's robe from your Official Wardrobe."
The Guardian unlocked a closet and took
from it a white robe, which the soldier threw
over Ojo. It covered him from head to foot, but
had two holes just in front of his eyes, so he
could see where to go. In this attire the boy
presented a very quaint appearance.
As the Guardian unlocked a gate leading
from his room into the streets of the Emerald
City, the Shaggy Man said to Scraps:
"I think I shall take you directly to Dorothy,
as the Scarecrow advised, and the Glass Cat
and the Woozy may come with us. Ojo must
go to prison with the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, but he will be well treated and you
need not worry about him."
"What will they do with him?" asked Scraps.
"That I cannot tell. Since I came to the Land of
Oz no one has ever been arrested or imprisoned--
until Ojo broke the Law."
"Seems to me that girl Ruler of yours is making
a big fuss over nothing," remarked Scraps, tossing
her yarn hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her
patched head. "I don't know what Ojo has done, but
it couldn't be anything very bad, for you and I
were with him all the time."
The Shaggy Man made no reply to this speech and
presently the Patchwork Girl forgot all about Ojo
in her admiration of the wonderful city she had
entered.
They soon separated from the Munchkin boy, who
was led by the Soldier with the Green Whiskers
down a side street toward the prison. Ojo felt
very miserable and greatly ashamed of himself, but
he was beginning to grow angry because he was
treated in such a disgraceful manner. Instead of
entering the splendid Emerald City as a
respectable traveler who was entitled to a
welcome and to hospitality, he was being brought
in as a criminal, handcuffed and in a robe that
told all he met of his deep disgrace.
Ojo was by nature gentle and affectionate and if
he had disobeyed the Law of Oz it was to restore
his dear Unc Nunkie to life. His fault was more
thoughtless than wicked, but that did not alter
the fact that he had committed a fault. At first
he had felt sorrow and remorse, but the more he
thought about the unjust treatment he had
received--unjust merely because he considered it
so--the more he resented his arrest, blaming Ozma
for making foolish laws and then punishing folks
who broke them. Only a six-leaved clover! A tiny
green plant growing neglected and trampled under
foot. What harm could there be in picking it? Ojo
began to think Ozma must be a very bad and
oppressive Ruler for such a lovely fairyland as
Oz. The Shaggy Man said the people loved her; but
how could they?
The little Munchkin boy was so busy thinking
these things--which many guilty prisoners have
thought before him--that he scarcely noticed all
the splendor of the city streets through which
they passed. Whenever they met any of the happy,
smiling people, the boy turned his head away in
shame, although none knew who was beneath the
robe.
By and by they reached a house built just beside
the great city wall, but in a quiet, retired
place. It was a pretty house, neatly painted and
with many windows. Before it was a garden filled
with blooming flowers. The Soldier with the Green
Whiskers led Ojo up the gravel path to the front
door, on which he knocked.
A woman opened the door and, seeing Ojo
in his white robe, exclaimed:
"Goodness me! A prisoner at last. But what a
small one, Soldier."
"The size doesn't matter, Tollydiggle, my
dear. The fact remains that he is a prisoner,"
said the soldier. "And, this being the prison,
and you the jailer, it is my duty to place the
prisoner in your charge."
"True. Come in, then, and I'll give you a
receipt for him."
They entered the house and passed through a hall
to a large circular room, where the woman pulled
the robe off from Ojo and looked at him with
kindly interest. The boy, on his part, was gazing
around him in amazement, for never had he dreamed
of such a magnificent apartment as this in which
he stood. The roof of the dome was of colored
glass, worked into beautiful designs. The walls
were paneled with plates of gold decorated with
gems of great size and many colors, and upon the
tiled floor were soft rugs delightful to walk
upon. The furniture was framed in gold and
upholstered in satin brocade and it consisted of
easy chairs, divans and stools in great variety.
Also there were several tables with mirror tops
and cabinets filled with rare and curious things.
In one place a case filled with books stood
against the wall, and elsewhere Ojo saw a cupboard
containing all sorts of games.
"May I stay here a little while before I go to
prison?" asked the boy, pleadingly.
"Why, this is your prison," replied Tollydiggle,
"and in me behold your jailor. Take off those
handcuffs, Soldier, for it is impossible for
anyone to escape from this house."
"I know that very well," replied the soldier and
at once unlocked the handcuffs and released the
prisoner.
The woman touched a button on the wall and
lighted a big chandelier that hung suspended from
the ceiling, for it was growing dark outside. Then
she seated herself at a desk and asked:
"What name?"
"Ojo the Unlucky," answered the Soldier
with the Green Whiskers.
"Unlucky? Ah, that accounts for it," said she.
"What crime?"
"Breaking a Law of Oz."
"All right. There's your receipt, Soldier; and
now I'm responsible for the prisoner. I'm glad
of it, for this is the first time I've ever had
anything to do, in my official capacity," remarked
the jailer, in a pleased tone.
"It's the same with me, Tollydiggle," laughed
the soldier. "But my task is finished and I must
go and report to Ozma that I've done my duty
like a faithful Police Force, a loyal Army and
an honest Body-Guard--as I hope I am."
Saying this, he nodded farewell to Tollydiggle
and Ojo and went away.
"Now, then," said the woman briskly, "I must get
you some supper, for you are doubtless hungry.
What would you prefer: planked whitefish, omelet
with jelly or mutton-chops with gravy?"
Ojo thought about it. Then he said: "I'll take
the chops, if you please."
"Very well; amuse yourself while I'm gone;
I won't be long," and then she went out by a
door and left the prisoner alone.
Ojo was much astonished, for not only was this
unlike any prison he had ever heard of, but he was
being treated more as a guest than a criminal.
There were many windows and they had no locks.
There were three doors to the room and none were
bolted. He cautiously opened one of the doors and
found it led into a hallway. But he had no
intention of trying to escape. If his jailor was
willing to trust him in this way he would not
betray her trust, and moreover a hot supper was
being prepared for him and his prison was very
pleasant and comfortable. So he took a book from
the case and sat down in a big chair to look at
the pictures.
This amused him until the woman came in with a
large tray and spread a cloth on one of the
tables. Then she arranged his supper, which proved
the most varied and delicious meal Ojo had ever
eaten in his life.
Tollydiggle sat near him while he ate, sewing
on some fancy work she held in her lap. When
he had finished she cleared the table and then
read to him a story from one of the books.
"Is this really a prison?" he asked, when she
had finished reading.
"Indeed it is," she replied. "It is the only
prison in the Land of Oz."
"And am I a prisoner?"
"Bless the child! Of course."
"Then why is the prison so fine, and why
are you so kind to me?" he earnestly asked.
Tollydiggle seemed surprised by the question,
but she presently answered:
"We consider a prisoner unfortunate. He is
unfortunate in two ways--because he has done
something wrong and because he is deprived of his
liberty. Therefore we should treat him kindly,
because of his misfortune, for otherwise he would
become hard and bitter and would not be sorry he
had done wrong. Ozma thinks that one who has
committed a fault did so because he was not strong
and brave; therefore she puts him in prison to
make him strong and brave. When that is
accomplished he is no longer a prisoner, but a
good and loyal citizen and everyone is glad that
he is now strong enough to resist doing wrong. You
see, it is kindness that makes one strong and
brave; and so we are kind to our prisoners."
Ojo thought this over very carefully. "I had
an idea," said he, "that prisoners were always
treated harshly, to punish them."
"That would be dreadful!" cried Tollydiggle.
"Isn't one punished enough in knowing he has
done wrong? Don't you wish, Ojo, with all your
heart, that you had not been disobedient and
broken a Law of Oz?"
"I--I hate to be different from other people,"
he admitted.
"Yes; one likes to be respected as highly as his
neighbors are," said the woman. "When you are
tried and found guilty, you will be obliged to
make amends, in some way. I don't know just
what Ozma will do to you, because this is the
first time one of us has broken a Law; but you
may be sure she will be just and merciful. Here
in the Emerald City people are too happy and
contented ever to do wrong; but perhaps you
came from some faraway corner of our land, and
having no love for Ozma carelessly broke one
of her Laws."
"Yes," said Ojo, "I've lived all my life in the
heart of a lonely forest, where I saw no one but
dear Unc Nunkie."
"I thought so," said Tollydiggle. "But now
we have talked enough, so let us play a game
until bedtime."
Chapter Sixteen
Princess Dorothy
Dorothy Gale was sitting in one of her rooms in
the royal palace, while curled up at her feet was
a little black dog with a shaggy coat and very
bright eyes. She wore a plain white frock, without
any jewels or other ornaments except an emeraldgreen
hair-ribbon, for Dorothy was a simple
little girl and had not been in the least spoiled
by the magnificence surrounding her. Once the
child had lived on the Kansas prairies, but she
seemed marked for adventure, for she had made
several trips to the Land of Oz before she came to
live there for good. Her very best friend was the
beautiful Ozma of Oz, who loved Dorothy so well
that she kept her in her own palace, so as to be
near her. The girl's Uncle Henry and Aunt Em--the
only relatives she had in the world--had also been
brought here by Ozma and given a pleasant home.
Dorothy knew almost everybody in Oz, and it was
she who had discovered the Scarecrow, the Tin
Woodman and the Cowardly Lion, as well as Tik-Tok
the Clockwork Man. Her life was very pleasant now,
and although she had been made a Princess of Oz by
her friend Ozma she did not care much to be a
Princess and remained as sweet as when she had
been plain Dorothy Gale of Kansas.
Dorothy was reading in a book this evening
when Jellia Jamb, the favorite servant-maid of
the palace, came to say that the Shaggy Man
wanted to see her.
"All right," said Dorothy; "tell him to come
right up."
"But he has some queer creatures with him--some
of the queerest I've ever laid eyes on," reported
Jellia.
"Never mind; let 'em all come up," replied
Dorothy.
But when the door opened to admit not only the
Shaggy Man, but Scraps, the Woozy and the Glass
Cat, Dorothy jumped up and looked at her strange
visitors in amazement. The Patchwork Girl was the
most curious of all and Dorothy was uncertain at
first whether Scraps was really alive or only a
dream or a nightmare. Toto, her dog, slowly
uncurled himself and going to the Patchwork Girl
sniffed at her inquiringly; but soon he lay down
again, as if to say he had no interest in such an
irregular creation.
"You're a new one to me," Dorothy said
reflectively, addressing the Patchwork Girl. "I
can't imagine where you've come from."
"Who, me?" asked Scraps, looking around the
pretty room instead of at the girl. "Oh, I came
from a bed-quilt, I guess. That's what they say,
anyhow. Some call it a crazy-quilt and some a
patchwork quilt. But my name is Scraps--and now
you know all about me."
"Not quite all," returned Dorothy with a smile.
"I wish you'd tell me how you came to be alive."
"That's an easy job," said Scraps, sitting upon
a big upholstered chair and making the springs
bounce her up and down. "Margolotte wanted a
slave, so she made me out of an old bed-quilt she
didn't use. Cotton stuffing, suspender-button
eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for teeth.
The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life,
sprinkled me with it and--here I am. Perhaps
you've noticed my different colors. A very refined
and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I
met, told me I am the most beautiful creature in
all Oz, and I believe it."
"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?" asked
Dorothy, a little puzzled to understand the brief
history related.
"Yes; isn't he jolly?"
"The Scarecrow has many good qualities," replied
Dorothy. "But I'm sorry to hear all this 'bout the
Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as hops when she
hears he's been doing magic again. She told him
not to."
"He only practices magic for the benefit of his
own family," explained Bungle, who was keeping at
a respectful distance from the little black dog.
"Dear me," said Dorothy; "I hadn't noticed
you before. Are you glass, or what?"
"I'm glass, and transparent, too, which is more
than can be said of some folks," answered the
cat. "Also I have some lovely pink brains; you
can see 'em work."
"Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see."
The Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.
"Send that beast away and I will," she said.
"Beast! Why, that's my dog Toto, an' he's the
kindest dog in all the world. Toto knows a good
many things, too; 'most as much as I do, I
guess."
"Why doesn't he say anything?" asked Bungle.
"He can't talk, not being a fairy dog,"
explained Dorothy. "He's just a common United
States dog; but that's a good deal; and I
understand him, and he understands me, just as
well as if he could talk."
Toto, at this, got up and rubbed his head
softly against Dorothy's hand, which she held
out to him, and he looked up into her face as if
he had understood every word she had said.
"This cat, Toto," she said to him, "is made
of glass, so you mustn't bother it, or chase it,
any more than you do my Pink Kitten. It's
prob'ly brittle and might break if it bumped
against anything."
"Woof!" said Toto, and that meant he understood.
The Glass Cat was so proud of her pink brains
that she ventured to come close to Dorothy, in
order that the girl might "see 'em work." This was
really interesting, but when Dorothy patted the
cat she found the glass cold and hard and
unresponsive, so she decided at once that Bungle
would never do for a pet.
"What do you know about the Crooked Magician who
lives on the mountain?" asked Dorothy.
"He made me," replied the cat; "so I know all
about him. The Patchwork Girl is new--three or
four days old--but I've lived with Dr. Pipt for
years; and, though I don't much care for him, I
will say that he has always refused to work magic
for any of the people who come to his house. He
thinks there's no harm in doing magic things for
his own family, and he made me out of glass
because the meat cats drink too much milk. He also
made Scraps come to life so she could do the
housework for his wife Margolotte."
"Then why did you both leave him?" asked
Dorothy.
"I think you'd better let me explain that,"
interrupted the Shaggy Man, and then he told
Dorothy all of Ojo's story and how Unc Nunkie and
Margolotte had accidentally been turned to marble
by the Liquid of Petrifaction. Then he related how
the boy had started out in search of the things
needed to make the magic charm, which would
restore the unfortunates to life, and how he had
found the Woozy and taken him along because he
could not pull the three hairs out of its tail.
Dorothy listened to all this with much interest,
and thought that so far Ojo had acted very well.
But when the Shaggy Man told her of the Munchkin
boy's arrest by the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, because he was accused of wilfully
breaking a Law of Oz, the little girl was greatly
shocked.
"What do you s'pose he's done?" she asked.
"I fear he has picked a six-leaved clover,"
answered the Shaggy Man, sadly. "I did not see him
do it, and I warned him that to do so was against
the Law; but perhaps that is what he did,
nevertheless."
"I'm sorry 'bout that," said Dorothy gravely,
"for now there will be no one to help his poor
uncle and Margolotte 'cept this Patchwork Girl,
the Woozy and the Glass Cat."
"Don't mention it," said Scraps. "That's no
affair of mine. Margolotte and Unc Nunkie are
perfect strangers to me, for the moment I came
to life they came to marble."
"I see," remarked Dorothy with a sigh of
regret; "the woman forgot to give you a heart."
"I'm glad she did," retorted the Patchwork Girl.
"A heart must be a great annoyance to one. It
makes a person feel sad or sorry or devoted or
sympathetic--all of which sensations interfere with
one's happiness."
"I have a heart," murmured the Glass Cat.
"It's made of a ruby; but I don't imagine I shall
let it bother me about helping Unc Nunkie and
Margolotte."
"That's a pretty hard heart of yours," said
Dorothy. "And the Woozy, of course--"
"Why, as for me," observed the Woozy, who was
reclining on the floor with his legs doubled under
him, so that he looked much like a square box, "I
have never seen those unfortunate people you are
speaking of, and yet I am sorry for them, having
at times been unfortunate myself. When I was shut
up in that forest I longed for some one to help
me, and by and by Ojo came and did help me. So I'm
willing to help his uncle. I'm only a stupid
beast, Dorothy, but I can't help that, and if
you'll tell me what to do to help Ojo and his
uncle, I'll gladly do it."
Dorothy walked over and patted the Woozy on his
square head.
"You're not pretty," she said, "but I like you.
What are you able to do; anything 'special?"
"I can make my eyes flash fire--real fire--when
I'm angry. When anyone says: 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me
I get angry, and then my eyes flash fire."
"I don't see as fireworks could help Ojo's
uncle," remarked Dorothy. "Can you do anything
else?"
"I--I thought I had a very terrifying growl,"
said the Woozy, with hesitation; "but perhaps
I was mistaken."
"Yes," said the Shaggy Man, "you were certainly
wrong about that." Then he turned to Dorothy and
added: "What will become of the Munchkin boy?"
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head
thoughtfully. "Ozma will see him 'bout it, of
course, and then she'll punish him. But how,
I don't know, 'cause no one ever has been
punished in Oz since I knew anything about
the place. Too bad, Shaggy Man, isn't it?"
While they were talking Scraps had been
roaming around the room and looking at all
the pretty things it contained. She had carried
Ojo's basket in her hand, until now, when she
decided to see what was inside it. She found
the bread and cheese, which she had no use for,
and the bundle of charms, which were curious
but quite a mystery to her. Then, turning these
over, she came upon the six-leaved clover which
the boy had plucked.
Scraps was quick-witted, and although she had no
heart she recognized the fact that Ojo was her
first friend. She knew at once that because the
boy had taken the clover he had been imprisoned,
and she understood that Ojo had given her the
basket so they would not find the clover in his
possession and have proof of his crime. So,
turning her head to see that no one noticed her,
she took the clover from the basket and dropped it
into a golden vase that stood on Dorothy's table.
Then she came forward and said to Dorothy:
"I wouldn't care to help Ojo's uncle, but I
will help Ojo. He did not break the Law--no
one can prove he did--and that green-whiskered
soldier had no right to arrest him."
"Ozma ordered the boy's arrest," said Dorothy,
"and of course she knew what she was doing. But if
you can prove Ojo is innocent they will set him
free at once."
"They'll have to prove him guilty, won't
they?'' asked Scraps.
"I s'pose so."
"Well, they can't do that," declared the
Patchwork Girl.
As it was nearly time for Dorothy to dine with
Ozma, which she did every evening, she rang for a
servant and ordered the Woozy taken to a nice room
and given plenty of such food as he liked best.
"That's honey-bees," said the Woozy.
"You can't eat honey-bees, but you'll be given
something just as nice," Dorothy told him. Then
she had the Glass Cat taken to another room for
the night and the Patchwork Girl she kept in one
of her own rooms, for she was much interested in
the strange creature and wanted to talk with her
again and try to understand her better.
Chapter Seventeen
Ozma and Her Friends
The Shaggy Man had a room of his own in the royal
palace, so there he went to change his shaggy suit
of clothes for another just as shaggy but not so
dusty from travel. He selected a costume of
pea-green and pink satin and velvet, with
embroidered shags on all the edges and iridescent
pearls for ornaments. Then he bathed in an
alabaster pool and brushed his shaggy hair and
whiskers the wrong way to make them still more
shaggy. This accomplished, and arrayed in his
splendid shaggy garments, he went to Ozma's
banquet hall and found the Scarecrow, the Wizard
and Dorothy already assembled there. The Scarecrow
had made a quick trip and returned to the Emerald
City with his left ear freshly painted.
A moment later, while they all stood in waiting,
a servant threw open a door, the orchestra struck
up a tune and Ozma of Oz entered.
Much has been told and written concerning the
beauty of person and character of this sweet girl
Ruler of the Land of Oz--the richest, the happiest
and most delightful fairyland of which we have any
knowledge. Yet with all her queenly qualities Ozma
was a real girl and enjoyed the things in life
that other real girls enjoy. When she sat on her
splendid emerald throne in the great Throne Room
of her palace and made laws and settled disputes
and tried to keep all her subjects happy and
contented, she was as dignified and demure as any
queen might be; but when she had thrown aside her
jeweled robe of state and her sceptre, and had
retired to her private apartments, the girl--
joyous, light-hearted and free--replaced the
sedate Ruler.
In the banquet hall to-night were gathered
only old and trusted friends, so here Ozma was
herself--a mere girl. She greeted Dorothy with
a kiss, the Shaggy Man with a smile, the little
old Wizard with a friendly handshake and then
she pressed the Scarecrow's stuffed arm and
cried merrily:
"What a lovely left ear! Why, it's a hundred
times better than the old one."
"I'm glad you like it," replied the Scarecrow,
well pleased. "Jinjur did a neat job, didn't she?
And my hearing is now perfect. Isn't it wonderful
what a little paint will do, if it's properly
applied?"
"It really is wonderful," she agreed, as they
all took their seats; "but the Sawhorse must
have made his legs twinkle to have carried you so
far in one day. I didn't expect you back before
to-morrow, at the earliest."
"Well," said the Scarecrow, "I met a charming
girl on the road and wanted to see more of her, so
I hurried back."
Ozma laughed.
"I know," she returned; "it's the Patchwork
Girl. She is certainly bewildering, if not strictly
beautiful."
"Have you seen her, then?" the straw man eagerly
asked.
"Only in my Magic Picture, which shows me all
scenes of interest in the Land of Oz."
"I fear the picture didn't do her justice," said
the Scarecrow.
"It seemed to me that nothing could be more
gorgeous," declared Ozma. "Whoever made that
patchwork quilt, from which Scraps was formed,
must have selected the gayest and brightest bits
of cloth that ever were woven."
"I am glad you like her," said the Scarecrow
in a satisfied tone. Although the straw man did
not eat, not being made so he could, he often
dined with Ozma and her companions, merely
for the pleasure of talking with them. He sat at
the table and had a napkin and plate, but the
servants knew better than to offer him food.
After a little while he asked: "Where is the
Patchwork Girl now?"
"In my room," replied Dorothy. "I've taken a
fancy to her; she's so queer and--and--uncommon."
"She's half crazy, I think," added the Shaggy
Man.
"But she is so beautiful!" exclaimed the
Scarecrow, as if that fact disarmed all criticism.
They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the
Scarecrow was quite serious. Seeing that he was
interested in Scraps they forbore to say anything
against her. The little band of friends Ozma had
gathered around her was so quaintly assorted that
much care must be exercised to avoid hurting their
feelings or making any one of them unhappy. It was
this considerate kindness that held them close
friends and enabled them to enjoy one another's
society.
Another thing they avoided was conversing
on unpleasant subjects, and for that reason Ojo
and his troubles were not mentioned during the
dinner. The Shaggy Man, however, related his
adventures with the monstrous plants which
had seized and enfolded the travelers, and told
how he had robbed Chiss, the giant porcupine,
of the quills which it was accustomed to throw
at people. Both Dorothy and Ozma were pleased
with this exploit and thought it served Chiss
right.
Then they talked of the Woozy, which was the
most remarkable animal any of them had ever before
seen--except, perhaps, the live Sawhorse. Ozma had
never known that her dominions contained such a
thing as a Woozy, there being but one in existence
and this being confined in his forest for many
years. Dorothy said she believed the Woozy was a
good beast, honest and faithful; but she added
that she did not care much for the Glass Cat.
"Still," said the Shaggy Man, "the Glass Cat
is very pretty and if she were not so conceited
over her pink brains no one would object to her
as a companion."
The Wizard had been eating silently until
now, when he looked up and remarked:
"That Powder of Life which is made by the
Crooked Magician is really a wonderful thing.
But Dr. Pipt does not know its true value and
he uses it in the most foolish ways."
"I must see about that," said Ozma, gravely.
Then she smiled again and continued in a
lighter tone: "It was Dr. Pipt's famous Powder
of Life that enabled me to become the Ruler
of Oz."
"I've never heard that story," said the Shaggy
Man, looking at Ozma questioningly.
"Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an
old Witch named Mombi and transformed into a boy,"
began the girl Ruler. "I did not know who I was
and when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made
me wait upon her and carry wood for the fire and
hoe in the garden. One day she came back from a
journey bringing some of the Powder of Life, which
Dr. Pipt had given her. I had made a pumpkinheaded
man and set it up in her path to frighten
her, for I was fond of fun and hated the Witch.
But she knew what the figure was and to test her
Powder of Life she sprinkled some of it on the man
I had made. It came to life and is now our dear
friend Jack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away
with Jack to escape punishment, and I took old
Mombi's Powder of Life with me. During our journey
we came upon a wooden Sawhorse standing by the
road and I used the magic powder to bring it to
life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever since.
When I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress,
Glinda, knew who I was and restored me to my
proper person, when I became the rightful Ruler of
this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought
home the Powder of Life I might never have run
away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor would we
have had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to
comfort and amuse us."
That story interested the Shaggy Man very much,
as well as the others, who had often heard it
before. The dinner being now concluded, they all
went to Ozma's drawing-room, where they passed a
pleasant evening before it came time to retire.
Chapter Eighteen
Ojo is Forgiven
The next morning the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers went to the prison and took Ojo away to
the royal palace, where he was summoned to appear
before the girl Ruler for judgment. Again the
soldier put upon the boy the jeweled handcuffs and
white prisoner's robe with the peaked top and
holes for the eyes. Ojo was so ashamed, both of
his disgrace and the fault he had committed, that
he was glad to be covered up in this way, so that
people could not see him or know who he was. He
followed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers very
willingly, anxious that his fate might be decided
as soon as possible.
The inhabitants of the Emerald City were polite
people and never jeered at the unfortunate; but it
was so long since they had seen a prisoner that
they cast many curious looks toward the boy and
many of them hurried away to the royal palace to
be present during the trial.
When Ojo was escorted into the great Throne
Room of the palace he found hundreds of people
assembled there. In the magnificent emerald
throne, which sparkled with countless jewels, sat
Ozma of Oz in her Robe of State, which was
embroidered with emeralds and pearls. On her
right, but a little lower, was Dorothy, and on her
left the Scarecrow. Still lower, but nearly in
front of Ozma, sat the wonderful Wizard of Oz and
on a small table beside him was the golden vase
from Dorothy's room, into which Scraps had dropped
the stolen clover.
At Ozma's feet crouched two enormous beasts,
each the largest and most powerful of its kind.
Although these beasts were quite free, no one
present was alarmed by them; for the Cowardly Lion
and the Hungry Tiger were well known and respected
in the Emerald City and they always guarded the
Ruler when she held high court in the Throne Room.
There was still another beast present, but this
one Dorothy held in her arms, for it was her
constant companion, the little dog Toto. Toto knew
the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger and often
played and romped with them, for they were good
friends.
Seated on ivory chairs before Ozma, with a clear
space between them and the throne, were many of
the nobility of the Emerald City, lords and ladies
in beautiful costumes, and officials of the
kingdom in the royal uniforms of Oz. Behind these
courtiers were others of less importance, filling
the great hall to the very doors.
At the same moment that the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers arrived with Ojo, the Shaggy Man
entered from a side door, escorting the Patchwork
Girl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat. All these came
to the vacant space before the throne and stood
facing the Ruler.
"Hullo, Ojo," said Scraps; "how are you?"
"All right," he replied; but the scene awed the
boy and his voice trembled a little with fear.
Nothing could awe the Patchwork Girl, and although
the Woozy was somewhat uneasy in these splendid
surroundings the Glass Cat was delighted with the
sumptuousness of the court and the impressiveness
of the occasion--pretty big words but quite
expressive.
At a sign from Ozma the soldier removed Ojo's
white robe and the boy stood face to face with the
girl who was to decide his punishment. He saw at a
glance how lovely and sweet she was, and his heart
gave a bound of joy, for he hoped she would be
merciful.
Ozma sat looking at the prisoner a long time.
Then she said gently:
"One of the Laws of Oz forbids anyone to
pick a six-leaved clover. You are accused of
having broken this Law, even after you had
been warned not to do so."
Ojo hung his head and while he hesitated how to
reply the Patchwork Girl stepped forward and spoke
for him.
"All this fuss is about nothing at all," she
said, facing Ozma unabashed. "You can't prove he
picked the six-leaved clover, so you've no right
to accuse him of it. Search him, if you like, but
you won't find the clover; look in his basket and
you'll find it's not there. He hasn't got it, so I
demand that you set this poor Munchkin boy free."
The people of Oz listened to this defiance in
amazement and wondered at the queer Patchwork Girl
who dared talk so boldly to their Ruler. But Ozma
sat silent and motionless and it was the little
Wizard who answered Scraps.
"So the clover hasn't been picked, eh?" he said.
"I think it has. I think the boy hid it in his
basket, and then gave the basket to you. I also
think you dropped the clover into this vase, which
stood in Princess Dorothy's room, hoping to get
rid of it so it would not prove the boy guilty.
You're a stranger here, Miss Patches, and so you
don't know that nothing can be hidden from our
powerful Ruler's Magic Picture--nor from the
watchful eyes of the humble Wizard of Oz. Look,
all of you!" With these words he waved his hands
toward the vase on the table, which Scraps now
noticed for the first time.
From the mouth of the vase a plant sprouted,
slowly growing before their eyes until it became a
beautiful bush, and on the topmost branch appeared
the six-leaved clover which Ojo had unfortunately
picked.
The Patchwork Girl looked at the clover and
said: "Oh, so you've found it. Very well; prove
he picked it, if you can."
Ozma turned to Ojo.
"Did you pick the six-leaved clover?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "I knew it was against the
Law, but I wanted to save Unc Nunkie and I was
afraid if I asked your consent to pick it you
would refuse me."
"What caused you to think that?" asked the
Ruler.
"Why, it seemed to me a foolish law, unjust and
unreasonable. Even now I can see no harm in
picking a six-leaved clover. And I--I had not seen
the Emerald City, then, nor you, and I thought a
girl who would make such a silly Law would not be
likely to help anyone in trouble."
Ozma regarded him musingly, her chin resting
upon her hand; but she was not angry. On the
contrary she smiled a little at her thoughts and
then grew sober again.
"I suppose a good many laws seem foolish to
those people who do not understand them," she
said; "but no law is ever made without some
purpose, and that purpose is usually to protect
all the people and guard their welfare. As you are
a stranger, I will explain this Law which to you
seems so foolish. Years ago there were many
Witches and Magicians in the Land of Oz, and one
of the things they often used in making their
magic charms and transformations was a six-leaved
clover. These Witches and Magicians caused so much
trouble among my people, often using their powers
for evil rather than good, that I decided to
forbid anyone to practice magic or sorcery except
Glinda the Good and her assistant, the Wizard of
Oz, both of whom I can trust to use their arts
only to benefit my people and to make them
happier. Since I issued that Law the Land of Oz
has been far more peaceful and quiet; but I
learned that some of the Witches and Magicians
were still practicing magic on the sly and using
the six-leaved clovers to make their potions and
charms. Therefore I made another Law forbidding
anyone from plucking a six-leaved clover or from
gathering other plants and herbs which the Witches
boil in their kettles to work magic with. That has
almost put an end to wicked sorcery in our land,
so you see the Law was not a foolish one, but wise
and just; and, in any event, it is wrong to
disobey a Law."
Ojo knew she was right and felt greatly
mortified to realize he had acted and spoken so
ridiculously. But he raised his head and looked
Ozma in the face, saying:
"I am sorry I have acted wrongly and broken
your Law. I did it to save Unc Nunkie, and
thought I would not be found out. But I am
guilty of this act and whatever punishment you
think I deserve I will suffer willingly."
Ozma smiled more brightly, then, and nodded
graciously.
"You are forgiven," she said. "For, although
you have committed a serious fault, you are now
penitent and I think you have been punished
enough. Soldier, release Ojo the Lucky and--"
"I beg your pardon; I'm Ojo the Unlucky,"
said the boy.
"At this moment you are lucky," said she.
"Release him, Soldier, and let him go free."
The people were glad to hear Ozma's decree and
murmured their approval. As the royal audience was
now over, they began to leave the Throne Room and
soon there were none remaining except Ojo and his
friends and Ozma and her favorites.
The girl Ruler now asked Ojo to sit down and
tell her all his story, which he did, beginning
at the time he had left his home in the forest
and ending with his arrival at the Emerald City
and his arrest. Ozma listened attentively and
was thoughtful for some moments after the boy
had finished speaking. Then she said:
"The Crooked Magician was wrong to make the
Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl, for it was
against the Law. And if he had not unlawfully kept
the bottle of Liquid of Petrifaction standing on
his shelf, the accident to his wife Margolotte and
to Unc Nunkie could not have occurred. I can
understand, however, that Ojo, who loves his
uncle, will be unhappy unless he can save him.
Also I feel it is wrong to leave those two victims
standing as marble statues, when they ought to be
alive. So I propose we allow Dr. Pipt to make the
magic charm which will save them, and that we
assist Ojo to find the things he is seeking. What
do you think, Wizard?"
"That is perhaps the best thing to do," replied
the Wizard. "But after the Crooked Magician
has restored those poor people to life you must
take away his magic powers."
"I will," promised Ozma.
"Now tell me, please, what magic things must you
find?" continued the Wizard, addressing Ojo.
"The three hairs from the Woozy's tail I
have," said the boy. "That is, I have the Woozy,
and the hairs are in his tail. The six-leaved
clover I--I--"
"You may take it and keep it," said Ozma. "That
will not be breaking the Law, for it is already
picked, and the crime of picking it is forgiven."
"Thank you!" cried Ojo gratefully. Then he
continued: "The next thing I must find is a gill
of water from a dark well."
The Wizard shook his head. "That," said he,
"will be a hard task, but if you travel far enough
you may discover it."
"I am willing to travel for years, if it will
save Unc Nunkie," declared Ojo, earnestly.
"Then you'd better begin your journey at
once," advised the Wizard.
Dorothy had been listening with interest to
this conversation. Now she turned to Ozma and
asked: "May I go with Ojo, to help him?"
"Would you like to?" returned Ozma.
"Yes. I know Oz pretty well, but Ojo doesn't
know it at all. I'm sorry for his uncle and poor
Margolotte and I'd like to help save them. May
I go?"
"If you wish to," replied Ozma.
"If Dorothy goes, then I must go to take care of
her," said the Scarecrow, decidedly. "A dark well
can only be discovered in some out-of-the-way
place, and there may be dangers there."
"You have my permission to accompany Dorothy,"
said Ozma. "And while you are gone I will take
care of the Patchwork Girl."
"I'll take care of myself," announced Scraps,
"for I'm going with the Scarecrow and Dorothy.
I promised Ojo to help him find the things he
wants and I'll stick to my promise."
"Very well," replied Ozma. "But I see no need
for Ojo to take the Glass Cat and the Woozy."
"I prefer to remain here," said the cat. "I've
nearly been nicked half a dozen times, already,
and if they're going into dangers it's best for me
to keep away from them."
"Let Jellia Jamb keep her till Ojo returns,"
suggested Dorothy. "We won't need to take the
Woozy, either, but he ought to be saved because
of the three hairs in his tail."
"Better take me along," said the Woozy. "My eyes
can flash fire, you know, and I can growl--a
little."
"I'm sure you'll be safer here," Ozma decided,
and the Woozy made no further objection to the
plan.
After consulting together they decided that Ojo
and his party should leave the very next day to
search for the gill of water from a dark well, so
they now separated to make preparations for the
journey.
Ozma gave the Munchkin boy a room in the palace
for that night and the afternoon he passed with
Dorothy--getting acquainted, as she said--and
receiving advice from the Shaggy Man as to where
they must go. The Shaggy Man had wandered in many
parts of Oz, and so had Dorothy, for that matter,
yet neither of them knew where a dark well was to
be found.
"If such a thing is anywhere in the settled
parts of Oz," said Dorothy, "we'd prob'ly have
heard of it long ago. If it's in the wild parts of
the country, no one there would need a dark
well. P'raps there isn't such a thing."
"Oh, there must be!" returned Ojo, positively;
"or else the recipe of Dr. Pipt wouldn't call
for it."
"That's true," agreed Dorothy; "and, if it's
anywhere in the Land of Oz, we're bound to find
it."
"Well, we're bound to search for it, anyhow,"
said the Scarecrow. "As for finding it, we must
trust to luck."
"Don't do that," begged Ojo, earnestly. "I'm
called Ojo the Unlucky, you know."
Chapter Nineteen
Trouble with the Tottenhots
A day's journey from the Emerald City brought the
little band of adventurers to the home of Jack
Pumpkinhead, which was a house formed from the
shell of an immense pumpkin. Jack had made it
himself and was very proud of it. There was a
door, and several windows, and through the top was
stuck a stovepipe that led from a small stove
inside. The door was reached by a flight of three
steps and there was a good floor on which was
arranged some furniture that was quite
comfortable.
It is certain that Jack Pumpkinhead might
have had a much finer house to live in had he
wanted it, for Ozma loved the stupid fellow,
who had been her earliest companion; but Jack
preferred his pumpkin house, as it matched
himself very well, and in this he was not so
stupid, after all.
The body of this remarkable person was made of
wood, branches of trees of various sizes having
been used for the purpose. This wooden framework
was covered by a red shirt--with white spots in
it--blue trousers, a yellow vest, a jacket of
green-and-gold and stout leather shoes. The neck
was a sharpened stick on which the pumpkin head
was set, and the eyes, ears, nose and mouth were
carved on the skin of the pumpkin, very like a
child's jack-o'-lantern.
The house of this interesting creation stood
in the center of a vast pumpkin-field, where the
vines grew in profusion and bore pumpkins of
extraordinary size as well as those which were
smaller. Some of the pumpkins now ripening
on the vines were almost as large as Jack's house,
and he told Dorothy he intended to add another
pumpkin to his mansion.
The travelers were cordially welcomed to this
quaint domicile and invited to pass the night
there, which they had planned to do. The
Patchwork Girl was greatly interested in Jack
and examined him admiringly.
"You are quite handsome," she said; "but not
as really beautiful as the Scarecrow."
Jack turned, at this, to examine the Scarecrow
critically, and his old friend slyly winked one
painted eye at him.
"There is no accounting for tastes," remarked
the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh. "An old crow
once told me I was very fascinating, but of
course the bird might have been mistaken. Yet
I have noticed that the crows usually avoid the
Scarecrow, who is a very honest fellow, in his
way, but stuffed. I am not stuffed, you will
observe; my body is good solid hickory."
"I adore stuffing," said the Patchwork Girl.
"Well, as for that, my head is stuffed with
pumpkin-seeds," declared Jack. "I use them for
brains, and when they are fresh I am intellectual.
Just now, I regret to say, my seeds are rattling a
bit, so I must soon get another head."
"Oh; do you change your head?" asked Ojo.
"To be sure. Pumpkins are not permanent, more's
the pity, and in time they spoil. That is why I
grow such a great field of pumpkins--that I may
select a new head whenever necessary."
"Who carves the faces on them?" inquired the
boy.
"I do that myself. I lift off my old head, place
it on a table before me, and use the face for a
pattern to go by. Sometimes the faces I carve are
better than others--more expressive and cheerful,
you know--but I think they average very well."
Before she had started on the journey Dorothy
had packed a knapsack with the things she might
need, and this knapsack the Scarecrow carried
strapped to his back. The little girl wore a plain
gingham dress and a checked sunbonnet, as she knew
they were best fitted for travel. Ojo also had
brought along his basket, to which Ozma had added
a bottle of "Square Meal Tablets" and some fruit.
But Jack Pumpkinhead grew a lot of things in his
garden besides pumpkins, so he cooked for them a
fine vegetable soup and gave Dorothy, Ojo and
Toto, the only ones who found it necessary to eat,
a pumpkin pie and some green cheese. For beds they
must use the sweet dried grasses which Jack had
strewn along one side of the room, but that
satisfied Dorothy and Ojo very well. Toto, of
course, slept beside his little mistress.
The Scarecrow, Scraps and the Pumpkinhead
were tireless and had no need to sleep, so they
sat up and talked together all night; but they
stayed outside the house, under the bright stars,
and talked in low tones so as not to disturb the
sleepers. During the conversation the Scarecrow
explained their quest for a dark well, and asked
Jack's advice where to find it.
The Pumpkinhead considered the matter gravely.
"That is going to be a difficult task," said he,
"and if I were you I'd take any ordinary well
and enclose it, so as to make it dark."
"I fear that wouldn't do," replied the
Scarecrow. "The well must be naturally dark, and
the water must never have seen the light of day,
for otherwise the magic charm might not work at
all."
"How much of the water do you need?" asked Jack.
"A gill."
"How much is a gill?"
"Why--a gill is a gill, of course," answered
the Scarecrow, who did not wish to display his
ignorance.
"I know!" cried Scraps. "Jack and Jill went up
the hill to fetch--"
"No, no; that's wrong," interrupted the
Scarecrow. "There are two kinds of gills, I think;
one is a girl, and the other is--"
"A gillyflower," said Jack.
"No; a measure."
"How big a measure?"
"Well, I'll ask Dorothy."
So next morning they asked Dorothy, and she
said:
"I don't just know how much a gill is, but I've
brought along a gold flask that holds a pint.
That's more than a gill, I'm sure, and the Crooked
Magician may measure it to suit himself. But the
thing that's bothering us most, Jack, is to find
the well."
Jack gazed around the landscape, for he was
standing in the doorway of his house.
"This is a flat country, so you won't find any
dark wells here," said he. "You must go into the
mountains, where rocks and caverns are."
"And where is that?" asked Ojo.
"In the Quadling Country, which lies south
of here," replied the Scarecrow. "I've known all
along that we must go to the mountains."
"So have I," said Dorothy.
"But--goodness me!--the Quadling Country is full
of dangers," declared Jack. "I've never been there
myself, but--"
"I have," said the Scarecrow. "I've faced the
dreadful Hammerheads, which have no arms and butt
you like a goat; and I've faced the Fighting
Trees, which bend down their branches to pound and
whip you, and had many other adventures there."
"It's a wild country," remarked Dorothy,
soberly, "and if we go there we're sure to have
troubles of our own. But I guess we'll have to go,
if we want that gill of water from the dark well."
So they said good-bye to the Pumpkinhead and
resumed their travels, heading now directly toward
the South Country, where mountains and rocks and
caverns and forests of great trees abounded. This
part of the Land of Oz, while it belonged to Ozma
and owed her allegiance, was so wild and secluded
that many queer peoples hid in its jungles and
lived in their own way, without even a knowledge
that they had a Ruler in the Emerald City. If they
were left alone, these creatures never troubled
the inhabitants of the rest of Oz, but those who
invaded their domains encountered many dangers
from them.
It was a two days journey from Jack Pumkinhead's
house to the edge of the Quadling Country, for
neither Dorothy nor Ojo could walk very fast and
they often stopped by the wayside to rest. The
first night they slept on the broad fields, among
the buttercups and daisies, and the Scarecrow
covered the children with a gauze blanket taken
from his knapsack, so they would not be chilled by
the night air. Toward evening of the second day
they reached a sandy plain where walking was
difficult; but some distance before them they saw
a group of palm trees, with many curious black
dots under them; so they trudged bravely on to
reach that place by dark and spend the night under
the shelter of the trees.
The black dots grew larger as they advanced and
although the light was dim Dorothy thought they
looked like big kettles turned upside down. Just
beyond this place a jumble of huge, jagged rocks
lay scattered, rising to the mountains behind
them.
Our travelers preferred to attempt to climb
these rocks by daylight, and they realized that
for a time this would be their last night on the
plains.
Twilight had fallen by the time they came to the
trees, beneath which were the black, circular
objects they had marked from a distance. Dozens of
them were scattered around and Dorothy bent near
to one, which was about as tall as she was, to
examine it more closely. As she did so the top
flew open and out popped a dusky creature, rising
its length into the air and then plumping down
upon the ground just beside the little girl.
Another and another popped out of the circular,
pot-like dwelling, while from all the other black
objects came popping more creatures--very like
jumping-jacks when their boxes are unhooked--until
fully a hundred stood gathered around our little
group of travelers.
By this time Dorothy had discovered they
were people, tiny and curiously formed, but still
people. Their skins were dusky and their hair
stood straight up, like wires, and was brilliant
scarlet in color. Their bodies were bare except
for skins fastened around their waists and they
wore bracelets on their ankles and wrists, and
necklaces, and great pendant earrings.
Toto crouched beside his mistress and wailed
as if he did not like these strange creatures a bit.
Scraps began to mutter something about "hoppity,
poppity, jumpity, dump!" but no one paid any
attention to her. Ojo kept close to the Scarecrow
and the Scarecrow kept close to Dorothy; but the
little girl turned to the queer creatures and
asked:
"Who are you?"
They answered this question all together, in
a sort of chanting chorus, the words being as follows:
"We're the jolly Tottenhots;
We do not like the day,
But in the night 'tis our delight
To gambol, skip and play.
"We hate the sun and from it run,
The moon is cool and clear,
So on this spot each Tottenhot
Waits for it to appear.
"We're ev'ry one chock full of fun,
And full of mischief, too;
But if you're gay and with us play
We'll do no harm to you.
"Glad to meet you, Tottenhots," said the
Scarecrow solemnly. "But you mustn't expect us
to play with you all night, for we've traveled
all day and some of us are tired."
"And we never gamble," added the Patchwork Girl.
"It's against the Law."
These remarks were greeted with shouts of
laughter by the impish creatures and one seized
the Scarecrow's arm and was astonished to find the
straw man whirl around so easily. So the Tottenhot
raised the Scarecrow high in the air and tossed
him over the heads of the crowd. Some one caught
him and tossed him back, and so with shouts of
glee they continued throwing the Scarecrow here
and there, as if he had been a basket-ball.
Presently another imp seized Scraps and began to
throw her about, in the same way. They found her a
little heavier than the Scarecrow but still light
enough to be tossed like a sofa-cushion, and they
were enjoying the sport immensely when Dorothy,
angry and indignant at the treatment her friends
were receiving, rushed among the Tottenhots and
began slapping and pushing them until she had
rescued the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl and
held them close on either side of her. Perhaps she
would not have accomplished this victory so easily
had not Toto helped her, barking and snapping at
the bare legs of the imps until they were glad to
flee from his attack. As for Ojo, some of the
creatures had attempted to toss him, also, but
finding his body too heavy they threw him to the
ground and a row of the imps sat on him and held
him from assisting Dorothy in her battle.
The little brown folks were much surprised
at being attacked by the girl and the dog, and
one or two who had been slapped hardest began
to cry. Then suddenly they gave a shout, all
together, and disappeared in a flash into their
various houses, the tops of which closed with a
series of pops that sounded like a bunch of
firecrackers being exploded.
The adventurers now found themselves alone,
and Dorothy asked anxiously:
"Is anybody hurt?"
"Not me," answered the Scarecrow. "They have
given my straw a good shaking up and taken all the
lumps out of it. I am now in splendid condition
and am really obliged to the Tottenhots for their
kind treatment."
"I feel much the same way," said Scraps.
"My cotton stuffing had sagged a good deal with
the day's walking and they've loosened it up
until I feel as plump as a sausage. But the play
was a little rough and I'd had quite enough of
it when you interfered."
"Six of them sat on me," said Ojo, "but as
they are so little they didn't hurt me much."
Just then the roof of the house in front of
them opened and a Tottenhot stuck his head
out, very cautiously, and looked at the strangers.
"Can't you take a joke?" he asked,
reproachfully; "haven't you any fun in you at
all?"
"If I had such a quality," replied the
Scarecrow, "your people would have knocked it out
of me. But I don't bear grudges. I forgive you."
"So do I," added Scraps. "That is, if you behave
yourselves after this."
"It was just a little rough-house, that's all,"
said the Tottenhot. "But the question is not if
we will behave, but if you will behave? We
can't be shut up here all night, because this
is our time to play; nor do we care to come out
and be chewed up by a savage beast or slapped
by an angry girl. That slapping hurts like sixty;
some of my folks are crying about it. So here's
the proposition: you let us alone and we'll let
you alone."
"You began it," declared Dorothy.
"Well, you ended it, so we won't argue the
matter. May we come out again? Or are you still
cruel and slappy?"
"Tell you what we'll do," said Dorothy. "We're
all tired and want to sleep until morning. If
you'll let us get into your house, and stay there
until daylight, you can play outside all you want
to."
"That's a bargain!" cried the Tottenhot
eagerly, and he gave a queer whistle that
brought his people popping out of their houses
on all sides. When the house before them was
vacant, Dorothy and Ojo leaned over the hole
and looked in, but could see nothing because
it was so dark. But if the Tottenhots slept there
all day the children thought they could sleep
there at night, so Ojo lowered himself down
and found it was not very deep.
"There's a soft cushion all over," said he.
"Come on in."
Dorothy handed Toto to the boy and then climbed
in herself. After her came Scraps and the
Scarecrow, who did not wish to sleep but preferred
to keep out of the way of the mischievous
Tottenhots.
There seemed no furniture in the round den, but
soft cushions were strewn about the floor and
these they found made very comfortable beds. They
did not close the hole in the roof but left it
open to admit air. It also admitted the shouts and
ceaseless laughter of the impish Tottenhots as
they played outside, but Dorothy and Ojo, being
weary from their journey, were soon fast asleep.
Toto kept an eye open, however, and uttered low,
threatening growls whenever the racket made by the
creatures outside became too boisterous; and the
Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl sat leaning
against the wall and talked in whispers all night
long. No one disturbed the travelers until
daylight, when in popped the Tottenhot who owned
the place and invited them to vacate his premises.
Chapter Twenty
The Captive Yoop
As they were preparing to leave, Dorothy asked:
"Can you tell us where there is a dark well?"
"Never heard of such a thing," said the
Tottenhot. "We live our lives in the dark, mostly,
and sleep in the daytime; but we've never seen a
dark well, or anything like one."
"Does anyone live on those mountains beyond
here?" asked the Scarecrow.
"Lots of people. But you'd better not visit
them. We never go there," was the reply.
"What are the people like?" Dorothy inquired.
"Can't say. We've been told to keep away
from the mountain paths, and so we obey. This
sandy desert is good enough for us, and we're
not disturbed here," declared the Tottenhot.
So they left the man snuggling down to sleep in
his dusky dwelling, and went out into the
sunshine, taking the path that led toward the
rocky places. They soon found it hard climbing,
for the rocks were uneven and full of sharp points
and edges, and now there was no path at all.
Clambering here and there among the boulders they
kept steadily on, gradually rising higher and
higher until finally they came to a great rift in
a part of the mountain, where the rock seemed to
have split in two and left high walls on either
side.
"S'pose we go this way," suggested Dorothy;
"it's much easier walking than to climb over
the hills."
"How about that sign?" asked Ojo.
"What sign?" she inquired.
The Munchkin boy pointed to some words
painted on the wall of rock beside them, which
Dorothy had not noticed. The words read:
"LOOK OUT FOR YOOP."
The girl eyed this sign a moment and turned to
the Scarecrow, asking:
"Who is Yoop; or what is Yoop?"
The straw man shook his head. Then looked at
Toto and the dog said "Woof!"
"Only way to find out is to go on," said Scraps.
This being quite true, they went on. As they
proceeded, the walls of rock on either side grew
higher and higher. Presently they came upon
another sign which read:
"BEWARE THE CAPTIVE YOOP."
"Why, as for that," remarked Dorothy, "if Yoop
is a captive there's no need to beware of him.
Whatever Yoop happens to be, I'd much rather have
him a captive than running around loose."
"So had I," agreed the Scarecrow, with a nod of
his painted head.
"Still," said Scraps, reflectively:
"Yoop-te-hoop-te-loop-te-goop!
Who put noodles in the soup?
We may beware but we don't care,
And dare go where we scare the Yoop."
"Dear me! Aren't you feeling a little queer,
just now?" Dorothy asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Not queer, but crazy," said Ojo. "When she
says those things I'm sure her brains get mixed
somehow and work the wrong way.
"I don't see why we are told to beware the Yoop
unless he is dangerous," observed the Scarecrow in
a puzzled tone.
"Never mind; we'll find out all about him when
we get to where he is," replied the little girl.
The narrow canyon turned and twisted this way
and that, and the rift was so small that they were
able to touch both walls at the same time by
stretching out their arms. Toto had run on ahead,
frisking playfully, when suddenly he uttered a
sharp bark of fear and came running back to them
with his tail between his legs, as dogs do when
they are frightened.
"Ah," said the Scarecrow, who was leading
the way, "we must be near Yoop."
Just then, as he rounded a sharp turn, the
Straw man stopped so suddenly that all the
others bumped against him.
"What is it?" asked Dorothy, standing on
tip-toes to look over his shoulder. But then she
saw what it was and cried "Oh!" in a tone of
astonishment.
In one of the rock walls--that at their left--
was hollowed a great cavern, in front of which was
a row of thick iron bars, the tops and bottoms
being firmly fixed in the solid rock. Over this
cavern was a big sign, which Dorothy read with
much curiosity, speaking the words aloud that all
might know what they said:
"MISTER YOOP--HIS CAVE
The Largest Untamed Giant in Captivity.
Height, 21 Feet.--(And yet he has but 2 feet.)
Weight, 1640 Pounds.--(But he waits all the time.)
Age, 400 Years 'and Up' (as they say in the
Department Store advertisements).
Temper, Fierce and Ferocious.--(Except when asleep.)
Appetite, Ravenous.--(Prefers Meat People and
Orange Marmalade.)
STRANGERS APPROACHING THIS CAVE DO SO AT THEIR
OWN PERIL!
P.S.--Don't feed the Giant yourself."
"Very well," said Ojo, with a sigh; "let's go back."
"It's a long way back," declared Dorothy.
"So it is," remarked the Scarecrow, "and it
means a tedious climb over those sharp rocks if
we can't use this passage. I think it will be best
to run by the Giant's cave as fast as we can go.
Mister Yoop seems to be asleep just now."
But the Giant wasn't asleep. He suddenly
appeared at the front of his cavern, seized the
iron bars in his great hairy hands and shook
them until they rattled in their sockets. Yoop
was so tall that our friends had to tip their heads
way back to look into his face, and they noticed
he was dressed all in pink velvet, with silver
buttons and braid. The Giant's boots were of
pink leather and had tassels on them and his
hat was decorated with an enormous pink ostrich
feather, carefully curled.
"Yo-ho!" he said in a deep bass voice; "I smell
dinner."
"I think you are mistaken," replied the
Scarecrow. "There is no orange marmalade around
here."
"Ah, but I eat other things," asserted Mister
Yoop. "That is, I eat them when I can get them.
But this is a lonely place, and no good meat has
passed by my cave for many years; so I'm hungry."
"Haven't you eaten anything in many years?"
asked Dorothy.
"Nothing except six ants and a monkey. I thought
the monkey would taste like meat people, but the
flavor was different. I hope you will taste
better, for you seem plump and tender."
"Oh, I'm not going to be eaten," said Dorothy.
"Why not?"
"I shall keep out of your way," she answered.
"How heartless!" wailed the Giant, shaking the
bars again. "Consider how many years it is since
I've eaten a single plump little girl! They tell
me meat is going up, but if I can manage to catch
you I'm sure it will soon be going down. And I'll
catch you if I can."
With this the Giant pushed his big arms,
which looked like tree-trunks (except that treetrunks
don't wear pink velvet) between the iron
bars, and the arms were so long that they
touched the opposite wall of the rock passage.
Then he extended them as far as he could reach
toward our travelers and found he could almost
touch the Scarecrow--but not quite.
"Come a little nearer, please," begged the
Giant.
"I'm a Scarecrow."
"A Scarecrow? Ugh! I don't care a straw for
a scarecrow. Who is that bright-colored delicacy
behind you?"
"Me?" asked Scraps. "I'm a Patchwork Girl,
and I'm stuffed with cotton."
"Dear me," sighed the Giant in a disapointed
tone; "that reduces my dinner from four to two--
and the dog. I'll save the dog for dessert."
Toto growled, keeping a good distance away.
"Back up," said the Scarecrow to those behind
him. "Let us go back a little way and talk this
over."
So they turned and went around the bend in
the passage, where they were out of sight of the
cave and Mister Yoop could not hear them.
"My idea," began the Scarecrow, when they
had halted, "is to make a dash past the cave,
going on a run."
"He'd grab us," said Dorothy.
"Well, he can't grab but one at a time, and
I'll go first. As soon as he grabs me the rest of
you can slip past him, out of his reach, and he
will soon let me go because I am not fit to eat."
They decided to try this plan and Dorothy
took Toto in her arms, so as to protect him. She
followed just after the Scarecrow. Then came
Ojo, with Scraps the last of the four. Their
hearts beat a little faster than usual as they again
approached the Giant's cave, this time moving
swiftly forward.
It turned out about the way the Scarecrow had
planned. Mister Yoop was quite astonished to see
them come flying toward him, and thrusting his
arms between the bars he seized the Scarecrow in a
firm grip. In the next instant he realized, from
the way the straw crunched between his fingers,
that he had captured the non-eatable man, but
during that instant of delay Dorothy and Ojo had
slipped by the Giant and were out of reach.
Uttering a howl of rage the monster threw the
Scarecrow after them with one hand and grabbed
Scraps with the other.
The poor Scarecrow went whirling through the air
and so cleverly was he aimed that he struck Ojo's
back and sent the boy tumbling head over heels,
and he tripped Dorothy and sent her, also,
sprawling upon the ground. Toto flew out of the
little girl's arms and landed some distance ahead,
and all were so dazed that it was a moment before
they could scramble to their feet again. When they
did so they turned to look toward the Giant's
cave, and at that moment the ferocious Mister Yoop
threw the Patchwork Girl at them.
Down went all three again, in a heap, with
Scraps on top. The Giant roared so terribly that
for a time they were afraid he had broken loose;
but he hadn't. So they sat in the road and looked
at one another in a rather bewildered way, and
then began to feel glad.
"We did it!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, with
satisfaction. "And now we are free to go on
our way."
"Mister Yoop is very impolite," declared
Scraps. "He jarred me terribly. It's lucky my
stitches are so fine and strong, for otherwise such
harsh treatment might rip me up the back."
"Allow me to apologize for the Giant," said
the Scarecrow, raising the Patchwork Girl to
her feet and dusting her skirt with his stuffed
hands. "Mister Yoop is a perfect stranger to me,
but I fear, from the rude manner in which he
has acted, that he is no gentleman."
Dorothy and Ojo laughed at this statement
and Toto barked as if he understood the joke,
after which they all felt better and resumed the
journey in high spirits.
"Of course," said the little girl, when they had
walked a way along the passage, "it was lucky for
us the Giant was caged; for, if he had happened to
be loose, he--he--"
"Perhaps, in that case, he wouldn't be hungry
any more," said Ojo gravely.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hip Hopper the Champion
They must have had good courage to climb all those
rocks, for after getting out of the canyon they
encountered more rock hills to be surmounted. Toto
could jump from one rock to another quite easily,
but the others had to creep and climb with care,
so that after a whole day of such work Dorothy and
Ojo found themselves very tired.
As they gazed upward at the great mass of
tumbled rocks that covered the steep incline,
Dorothy gave a little groan and said:
"That's going to be a ter'ble hard climb,
Scarecrow. I wish we could find the dark well
without so much trouble."
"Suppose," said Ojo, "you wait here and let
me do the climbing, for it's on my account
we're searching for the dark well. Then, if I
don't find anything, I'll come back and join
you."
"No," replied the little girl, shaking her head
positively, "we'll all go together, for that way
we can help each other. If you went alone,
something might happen to you, Ojo."
So they began the climb and found it indeed
difficult, for a way. But presently, in creeping
over the big crags, they found a path at their
feet which wound in and out among the masses of
rock and was quite smooth and easy to walk upon.
As the path gradually ascended the mountain,
although in a roundabout way, they decided to
follow it.
"This must be the road to the Country of
the Hoppers," said the Scarecrow.
"Who are the Hoppers?" asked Dorothy.
"Some people Jack Pumpkinhead told me about," he
replied.
"I didn't hear him," replied the girl.
"No; you were asleep," explained the Scarecrow.
"But he told Scraps and me that the Hoppers
and the Horners live on this mountain."
"He said in the mountain," declared Scraps;
"but of course he meant on it."
"Didn't he say what the Hoppers and Horners were
like?" inquired Dorothy.
"No; he only said they were two separate
nations, and that the Horners were the most
important."
"Well, if we go to their country we'll find out
all about 'em," said the girl. "But I've never
heard Ozma mention those people, so they can't
be very important."
"Is this mountain in the Land of Oz?" asked
Scraps.
"Course it is," answered Dorothy. "It's in the
South Country of the Quadlings. When one comes to
the edge of Oz, in any direction, there is nothing
more to be seen at all. Once you could see sandy
desert all around Oz; but now it's diff'rent, and
no other people can see us, any more than we can
see them."
"If the mountain is under Ozma's rule, why
doesn't she know about the Hoppers and the
Horners?" Ojo asked.
"Why, it's a fairyland," explained Dorothy, "and
lots of queer people live in places so tucked away
that those in the Emerald City never even hear of
'em. In the middle of the country it's diff'rent,
but when you get around the edges you're sure to
run into strange little corners that surprise you.
I know, for I've traveled in Oz a good deal, and
so has the Scarecrow."
"Yes," admitted the straw man, "I've been
considerable of a traveler, in my time, and I like
to explore strange places. I find I learn much
more by traveling than by staying at home."
During this conversation they had been walking
up the steep pathway and now found themselves well
up on the mountain. They could see nothing around
them, for the rocks beside their path were higher
than their heads. Nor could they see far in front
of them, because the path was so crooked. But
suddenly they stopped, because the path ended and
there was no place to go. Ahead was a big rock
lying against the side of the mountain, and this
blocked the way completely.
"There wouldn't be a path, though, if it
didn't go somewhere," said the Scarecrow,
wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.
"This is somewhere, isn't it?" asked the
Patchwork Girl, laughing at the bewildered
looks of the others.
"The path is locked, the way is blocked,
Yet here we've innocently flocked;
And now we're here it's rather queer
There's no front door that can be knocked."
"Please don't, Scraps," said Ojo. "You make me nervous."
"Well," said Dorothy, "I'm glad of a little
rest, for that's a drea'ful steep path."
As she spoke she leaned against the edge of
the big rock that stood in their way. To her
surprise it slowly swung backward and showed
behind it a dark hole that looked like the mouth
of a tunnel.
"Why, here's where the path goes to!" she
exclaimed.
"So it is," answered the Scarecrow. "But the
question is, do we want to go where the path
does?"
"It's underground; right inside the mountain,"
said Ojo, peering into the dark hole. "Perhaps
there's a well there; and, if there is, it's sure
to be a dark one."
"Why, that's true enough!" cried Dorothy
with eagerness. "Let's go in, Scarecrow; 'cause,
if others have gone, we're pretty safe to go, too."
Toto looked in and barked, but he did not
venture to enter until the Scarecrow had bravely
gone first. Scraps followed closely after the
straw man and then Ojo and Dorothy timidly stepped
inside the tunnel. As soon as all of them had
passed the big rock, it slowly turned and filled
up the opening again; but now they were no longer
in the dark, for a soft, rosy light enabled them
to see around them quite distinctly.
It was only a passage, wide enough for two
of them to walk abreast--with Toto in between
them--and it had a high, arched roof. They
could not see where the light which flooded the
place so pleasantly came from, for there were
no lamps anywhere visible. The passage ran
straight for a little way and then made a bend
to the right and another sharp turn to the left,
after which it went straight again. But there
were no side passages, so they could not lose
their way.
After proceeding some distance, Toto, who
had gone on ahead, began to bark loudly. They
ran around a bend to see what was the matter
and found a man sitting on the floor of the
passage and leaning his back against the wall.
He had probably been asleep before Toto's barks
aroused him, for he was now rubbing his eyes
and staring at the little dog with all his might.
There was something about this man that Toto
objected to, and when he slowly rose to his foot
they saw what it was. He had but one leg, set just
below the middle of his round, fat body; but it
was a stout leg and had a broad, flat foot at the
bottom of it, on which the man seemed to stand
very well. He had never had but this one leg,
which looked something like a pedestal, and when
Toto ran up and made a grab at the man's ankle he
hopped first one way and then another in a very
active manner, looking so frightened that Scraps
laughed aloud.
Toto was usually a well behaved dog, but this
time he was angry and snapped at the man's leg
again and again. This filled the poor fellow with
fear, and in hopping out of Toto's reach he
suddenly lost his balance and tumbled heel over
head upon the floor. When he sat up he kicked Toto
on the nose and made the dog howl angrily, but
Dorothy now ran forward and caught Toto's collar,
holding him back.
"Do you surrender?" she asked the man.
"Who? Me?" asked the Hopper.
"Yes; you," said the little girl.
"Am I captured?" he inquired.
"Of course. My dog has captured you," she said.
"Well," replied the man, "if I'm captured I must
surrender, for it's the proper thing to do. I like
to do everything proper, for it saves one a lot of
trouble."
"It does, indeed," said Dorothy. "Please tell us
who you are."
"I'm Hip Hopper--Hip Hopper, the Champion."
"Champion what?" she asked in surprise.
"Champion wrestler. I'm a very strong man,
and that ferocious animal which you are so
kindly holding is the first living thing that has
ever conquered me."
"And you are a Hopper?" she continued.
"Yes. My people live in a great city not far
from here. Would you like to visit it?"
"I'm not sure," she said with hesitation. "Have
you any dark wells in your city?"
"I think not. We have wells, you know, but
they're all well lighted, and a well lighted well
cannot well be a dark well. But there may be
such a thing as a very dark well in the Horner
Country, which is a black spot on the face of
the earth."
"Where is the Horner Country?" Ojo inquired.
"The other side of the mountain. There's a
fence between the Hopper Country and the
Horner Country, and a gate in the fence; but
you can't pass through just now, because we
are at war with the Horners."
"That's too bad," said the Scarecrow. "What
seems to be the trouble?"
"Why, one of them made a very insulting remark
about my people. He said we were lacking in
understanding, because we had only one leg to a
person. I can't see that legs have anything to do
with understanding things. The Horners each have
two legs, just as you have. That's one leg too
many, it seems to me."
"No," declared Dorothy, "it's just the right
number."
"You don't need them," argued the Hopper,
obstinately. "You've only one head, and one
body, and one nose and mouth. Two legs are
quite unnecessary, and they spoil one's shape."
"But how can you walk, with only one leg?" asked
Ojo.
"Walk! Who wants to walk?" exclaimed the man.
"Walking is a terribly awkward way to travel. I
hop, and so do all my people. It's so much more
graceful and agreeable than walking."
"I don't agree with you," said the Scarecrow.
"But tell me, is there any way to get to the
Horner Country without going through the city of
the Hoppers?"
"Yes; there is another path from the rocky
lowlands, outside the mountain, that leads
straight to the entrance of the Horner Country.
But it's a long way around, so you'd better come
with me. Perhaps they will allow you to go
through the gate; but we expect to conquer
them this afternoon, if we get time, and then
you may go and come as you please."
They thought it best to take the Hopper's
advice, and asked him to lead the way. This he
did in a series of hops, and he moved so swiftly
in this strange manner that those with two legs
had to run to keep up with him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Joking Horners
It was not long before they left the passage and
came to a great cave, so high that it must have
reached nearly to the top of the mountain within
which it lay. It was a magnificent cave, illumined
by the soft, invisible light, so that everything
in it could be plainly seen. The walls were of
polished marble, white with veins of delicate
colors running through it, and the roof was arched
and fantastic and beautiful.
Built beneath this vast dome was a pretty
village--not very large, for there seemed not more
than fifty houses altogether--and the dwellings
were of marble and artistically designed. No grass
nor flowers nor trees grew in this cave, so the
yards surrounding the houses carved in designs
both were smooth and bare and had low walls around
them to mark their boundaries.
In the streets and the yards of the houses
were many people all having one leg growing
below their bodies and all hopping here and
there whenever they moved. Even the children
stood firmly upon their single legs and never
lost their balance.
"All hail, Champion!" cried a man in the first
group of Hoppers they met; "whom have you
captured?"
"No one," replied the Champion in a gloomy
voice; "these strangers have captured me."
"Then," said another, "we will rescue you, and
capture them, for we are greater in number."
"No," answered the Champion, "I can't allow it.
I've surrendered, and it isn't polite to capture
those you've surrendered to."
"Never mind that," said Dorothy. "We will give
you your liberty and set you free."
"Really?" asked the Champion in joyous tones.
"Yes," said the little girl; "your people may
need you to help conquer the Horners."
At this all the Hoppers looked downcast and sad.
Several more had joined the group by this time and
quite a crowd of curious men, women and children
surrounded the strangers.
"This war with our neighbors is a terrible
thing," remarked one of the women. "Some one is
almost sure to get hurt."
"Why do you say that, madam?" inquired the
Scarecrow.
"Because the horns of our enemies are sharp,
and in battle they will try to stick those horns
into our warriors," she replied.
"How many horns do the Horners have?" asked
Dorothy.
"Each has one horn in the center of his forehead,"
was the answer.
"Oh, then they're unicorns," declared the
Scarecrow.
"No; they're Horners. We never go to war with
them if we can help it, on account of their
dangerous horns; but this insult was so great and
so unprovoked that our brave men decided to fight,
in order to be revenged," said the woman.
"What weapons do you fight with?" the Scarecrow
asked.
"We have no weapons," explained the Champion.
"Whenever we fight the Horners, our plan is to
push them back, for our arms are longer than
theirs."
"Then you are better armed," said Scraps.
"Yes; but they have those terrible horns, and
unless we are careful they prick us with the
points," returned the Champion with a shudder.
"That makes a war with them dangerous, and a
dangerous war cannot be a pleasant one."
"I see very clearly," remarked the Scarecrow,
"that you are going to have trouble in conquering
those Horners--unless we help you."
"Oh!" cried the Hoppers in a chorus; "can
you help us? Please do! We will be greatly
obliged! It would please us very much!" and by
these exclamations the Scarecrow knew that his
speech had met with favor.
"How far is it to the Horner Country?" he asked.
"Why, it's just the other side of the fence,"
they answered, and the Champion added:
"Come with me, please, and I'll show you the
Horners."
So they followed the Champion and several
others through the streets and just beyond the
village came to a very high picket fence, built
all of marble, which seemed to divide the great
cave into two equal parts.
But the part inhabited by the Horners was in no
way as grand in appearance as that of the Hoppers.
Instead of being marble, the walls and roof were
of dull gray rock and the square houses were
plainly made of the same material. But in extent
the city was much larger than that of the Hoppers
and the streets were thronged with numerous people
who busied themselves in various ways.
Looking through the open pickets of the fence
our friends watched the Horners, who did not know
they were being watched by strangers, and found
them very unusual in appearance. They were little
folks in size and had bodies round as balls and
short legs and arms. Their heads were round, too,
and they had long, pointed ears and a horn set in
the center of the forehead. The horns did not seem
very terrible, for they were not more than six
inches long; but they were ivory white and sharp
pointed, and no wonder the Hoppers feared them.
The skins of the Horners were light brown, but
they wore snow-white robes and were bare-footed.
Dorothy thought the most striking thing about them
was their hair, which grew in three distinct
colors on each and every head--red, yellow and
green. The red was at the bottom and sometimes
hung over their eyes; then came a broad circle of
yellow and the green was at the top and formed a
brush-shaped top-knot.
None of the Horners was yet aware of the
presence of strangers, who watched the little
brown people for a time and then went to the
big gate in the center of the dividing fence. It
was locked on both sides and over the latch was
a sign reading:
"WAR IS DECLARED"
"Can't we go through?" asked Dorothy.
"Not now," answered the Champion.
"I think," said the Scarecrow, "that if I could
talk with those Horners they would apologize to
you, and then there would be no need to fight."
"Can't you talk from this side?" asked the
Champion.
"Not so well," replied the Scarecrow. "Do you
suppose you could throw me over that fence?
It is high, but I am very light."
"We can try it," said the Hopper. "I am perhaps
the strongest man in my country, so I'll undertake
to do the throwing. But I won't promise you will
land on your feet."
"No matter about that," returned the Scarecrow.
"Just toss me over and I'll be satisfied."
So the Champion picked up the Scarecrow
and balanced him a moment, to see how much
he weighed, and then with all his strength
tossed him high into the air.
Perhaps if the Scarecrow had been a trifle
heavier he would have been easier to throw and
would have gone a greater distance; but, as it
was, instead of going over the fence he landed
just on top of it, and one of the sharp pickets
caught him in the middle of his back and held him
fast prisoner. Had he been face downward the
Scarecrow might have managed to free himself, but
lying on his back on the picket his hands waved in
the air of the Horner Country while his feet
kicked the air of the Hopper Country; so there he
was.
"Are you hurt?" called the Patchwork Girl
anxiously.
"Course not," said Dorothy. "But if he wiggles
that way he may tear his clothes. How can we get
him down, Mr. Champion?"
The Champion shook his head.
"I don't know," he confessed. "If he could
scare Horners as well as he does crows, it might
be a good idea to leave him there."
"This is terrible," said Ojo, almost ready to
cry. "I s'pose it's because I am Ojo the Unlucky
that everyone who tries to help me gets into
trouble."
"You are lucky to have anyone to help you,"
declared Dorothy. "But don't worry. We'll rescue
the Scarecrow somehow."
"I know how," announced Scraps. "Here, Mr.
Champion; just throw me up to the Scarecrow. I'm
nearly as light as he is, and when I'm on top the
fence I'll pull our friend off the picket and toss
him down to you."
"All right," said the Champion, and he picked up
the Patchwork Girl and threw her in the same
manner he had the Scarecrow. He must have used
more strength this time, however, for Scraps
sailed far over the top of the fence and, without
being able to grab the Scarecrow at all, tumbled
to the ground in the Horner Country, where her
stuffed body knocked over two men and a woman and
made a crowd that had collected there run like
rabbits to get away from her.
Seeing the next moment that she was harmless,
the people slowly returned and gathered around the
Patchwork Girl, regarding her with astonishment.
One of them wore a jeweled star in his hair, just
above his horn, and this seemed a person of
importance. He spoke for the rest of his people,
who treated him with great respect.
"Who are you, Unknown Being?" he asked.
"Scraps," she said, rising to her feet and
patting her cotton wadding smooth where it had
bunched up.
"And where did you come from?" he continued.
"Over the fence. Don't be silly. There's no
other place I could have come from," she replied.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"You are not a Hopper," said he, "for you
have two legs. They're not very well shaped,
but they are two in number. And that strange
creature on top the fence--why doesn't he stop
kicking?--must be your brother, or father, or son,
for he also has two legs."
"You must have been to visit the Wise Donkey,"
said Scraps, laughing so merrily that the crowd
smiled with her, in sympathy. "But that reminds
me, Captain--or King--"
"I am Chief of the Horners, and my name is Jak."
"Of course; Little Jack Horner; I might have
known it. But the reason I volplaned over the
fence was so I could have a talk with you about
the Hoppers."
"What about the Hoppers?" asked the Chief,
frowning.
"You've insulted them, and you'd better beg
their pardon," said Scraps. "If you don't, they'll
probably hop over here and conquer you."
"We're not afraid--as long as the gate is
locked," declared the Chief. "And we didn't insult
them at all. One of us made a joke that the stupid
Hoppers couldn't see."
The Chief smiled as he said this and the smile
made his face look quite jolly.
"What was the joke?" asked Scraps.
"A Horner said they have less understanding than
we, because they've only one leg. Ha, ha! You see
the point, don't you? If you stand on your legs,
and your legs are under you, then--ha, ha, ha!--
then your legs are your under-standing. Hee, hee,
hee! Ho, ho! My, but that's a fine joke. And the
stupid Hoppers couldn't see it! They couldn't see
that with only one leg they must have less
under-standing than we who have two legs. Ha, ha,
ha! Hee, hee! Ho, ho!" The Chief wiped the tears
of laughter from his eyes with the bottom hem of
his white robe, and all the other Horners wiped
their eyes on their robes, for they had laughed
just as heartily as their Chief at the absurd
joke.
"Then," said Scraps, "their understanding of the
understanding you meant led to the
misunderstanding."
"Exactly; and so there's no need for us to
apologize," returned the Chief.
"No need for an apology, perhaps, but much need
for an explanation," said Scraps decidedly. "You
don't want war, do you?"
"Not if we can help it," admitted Jak Horner.
"The question is, who's going to explain the joke
to the Horners? You know it spoils any joke to be
obliged to explain it, and this is the best joke I
ever heard."
"Who made the joke?" asked Scraps.
"Diksey Horner. He is working in the mines, just
now, but he'll be home before long. Suppose we
wait and talk with him about it? Maybe he'll be
willing to explain his joke to the Hoppers."
"All right," said Scraps. "I'll wait, if Diksey
isn't too long."
"No, he's short; he's shorter than I am. Ha,
ha, ha! Say! that's a better joke than Diksey's.
He won't be too long, because he's short. Hee,
hee, ho!"
The other Horners who were standing by roared
with laughter and seemed to like their Chief's
joke as much as he did. Scraps thought it was odd
that they could be so easily amused, but decided
there could be little harm in people who laughed
so merrily.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Peace Is Declared
"Come with me to my dwelling and I'll introduce
you to my daughters," said the Chief. "We're
bringing them up according to a book of rules that
was written by one of our leading old bachelors,
and everyone says they're a remarkable lot of girls."
So Scraps accompanied him along the street to a
house that seemed on the outside exceptionally
grimy and dingy. The streets of this city were not
paved nor had any attempt been made to beautify
the houses or their surroundings, and having
noticed this condition Scraps was astonished when
the Chief ushered her into his home.
Here was nothing grimy or faded, indeed. On the
contrary, the room was of dazzling brilliance and
beauty, for it was lined throughout with an
exquisite metal that resembled translucent frosted
silver. The surface of this metal was highly
ornamented in raised designs representing men,
animals, flowers and trees, and from the metal
itself was radiated the soft light which flooded
the room. All the furniture was made of the same
glorious metal, and Scraps asked what it was.
"That's radium," answered the Chief. "We
Horners spend all our time digging radium from
the mines under this mountain, and we use it
to decorate our homes and make them pretty and
cosy. It is a medicine, too, and no one can ever
be sick who lives near radium."
"Have you plenty of it?" asked the Patchwork
Girl.
"More than we can use. All the houses in this
city are decorated with it, just the same as mine
is."
"Why don't you use it on your streets, then,
and the outside of your houses, to make them as
pretty as they are within?" she inquired.
"Outside? Who cares for the outside of
anything?" asked the Chief. "We Horners don't live
on the outside of our homes; we live inside. Many
people are like those stupid Hoppers, who love to
make an outside show. I suppose you strangers
thought their city more beautiful than ours,
because you judged from appearances and they have
handsome marble houses and marble streets; but if
you entered one of their stiff dwellings you would
find it bare and uncomfortable, as all their show
is on the outside. They have an idea that what is
not seen by others is not important, but with us
the rooms we live in are our chief delight and
care, and we pay no attention to outside show."
"Seems to me," said Scraps, musingly, "it
would be better to make it all pretty--inside
and out."
"Seems? Why, you're all seams, my girl!" said
the Chief; and then he laughed heartily at his
latest joke and a chorus of small voices echoed
the chorus with "tee-hee-hee! ha, ha!"
Scraps turned around and found a row of
girls seated in radium chairs ranged along one
wall of the room. There were nineteen of them,
by actual count, and they were of all sizes from
a tiny child to one almost a grown woman. All
were neatly dressed in spotless white robes and
had brown skins, horns on their foreheads and
three-colored hair.
"These," said the Chief, "are my sweet
daughters. My dears, I introduce to you Miss
Scraps Patchwork, a lady who is traveling in
foreign parts to increase her store of wisdom."
The nineteen Horner girls all arose and made
a polite curtsey, after which they resumed their
seats and rearranged their robes properly.
"Why do they sit so still, and all in a row?"
asked Scraps.
"Because it is ladylike and proper," replied the
Chief.
"But some are just children, poor things!
Don't they ever run around and play and laugh,
and have a good time?"
"No, indeed," said the Chief. "That would he
improper in young ladies, as well as in those who
will sometime become young ladies. My daughters
are being brought up according to the rules and
regulations laid down by a leading bachelor who
has given the subject much study and is himself a
man of taste and culture. Politeness is his great
hobby, and he claims that if a child is allowed to
do an impolite thing one cannot expect the grown
person to do anything better."
"Is it impolite to romp and shout and be jolly?"
asked Scraps.
"Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't,"
replied the Horner, after considering the
question. "By curbing such inclinations in my
daughters we keep on the safe side. Once in a
while I make a good joke, as you have heard, and
then I permit my daughters to laugh decorously;
but they are never allowed to make a joke
themselves."
"That old bachelor who made the rules ought
to be skinned alive!" declared Scraps, and would
have said more on the subject had not the door
opened to admit a little Horner man whom the
Chief introduced as Diksey.
"What's up, Chief?" asked Diksey, winking
nineteen times at the nineteen girls, who demurely
cast down their eyes because their father was
looking.
The Chief told the man that his joke had not
been understood by the dull Hoppers, who had
become so angry that they had declared war. So the
only way to avoid a terrible battle was to explain
the joke so they could understand it.
"All right," replied Diksey, who seemed a goodnatured
man; "I'll go at once to the fence and
explain. I don't want any war with the Hoppers,
for wars between nations always cause hard
feelings."
So the Chief and Diksey and Scraps left the
house and went back to the marble picket fence.
The Scarecrow was still stuck on the top of his
picket but had now ceased to struggle. On the
other side of the fence were Dorothy and Ojo,
looking between the pickets; and there, also,
were the Champion and many other Hoppers.
Diksey went close to the fence and said:
"My good Hoppers, I wish to explain that
what I said about you was a joke. You have but
one leg each, and we have two legs each. Our
legs are under us, whether one or two, and we
stand on them. So, when I said you had less
understanding than we, I did not mean that you
had less understanding, you understand, but
that you had less standundering, so to speak.
Do you understand that?"
The Hoppers thought it over carefully. Then one
said:
"That is clear enough; but where does the joke
come in?'"
Dorothy laughed, for she couldn't help it,
although all the others were solemn enough.
"I'll tell you where the joke comes in," she
said, and took the Hoppers away to a distance,
where the Horners could not hear them. "You know,"
she then explained, "those neighbors of yours are
not very bright, poor things, and what they think
is a joke isn't a joke at all--it's true, don't
you see?"
"True that we have less understanding?" asked
the Champion.
"Yes; it's true because you don't understand
such a poor joke; if you did, you'd be no wiser
than they are."
"Ah, yes; of course," they answered, looking
very wise.
"So I'll tell you what to do," continued
Dorothy. "Laugh at their poor joke and tell 'em
it's pretty good for a Horner. Then they won't
dare say you have less understanding, because you
understand as much as they do."
The Hoppers looked at one another questioningly
and blinked their eyes and tried to think what it
all meant; but they couldn't figure it out.
"What do you think, Champion?" asked one of
them.
"I think it is dangerous to think of this thing
any more than we can help," he replied. "Let us do
as this girl says and laugh with the Horners, so
as to make them believe we see the joke. Then
there will be peace again and no need to fight."
They readily agreed to this and returned to
the fence laughing as loud and as hard as they
could, although they didn't feel like laughing
a bit. The Horners were much surprised.
"That's a fine joke--for a Horner--and we are
much pleased with it," said the Champion, speaking
between the pickets. "But please don't do it
again."
"I won't," promised Diksey. "If I think of
another such joke I'll try to forget it."
"Good!" cried the Chief Horner. "The war is over
and peace is declared."
There was much joyful shouting on both sides of
the fence and the gate was unlocked and thrown
wide open, so that Scraps was able to rejoin her
friends.
"What about the Scarecrow?" she asked Dorothy.
"We must get him down, somehow or other," was
the reply.
"Perhaps the Horners can find a way," suggested
Ojo. So they all went through the gate and Dorothy
asked the Chief Horner how they could get the
Scarecrow off the fence. The Chief didn't know
how, but Diksey said:
"A ladder's the thing."
"Have you one?" asked Dorothy.
"To be sure. We use ladders in our mines,"
said he. Then he ran away to get the ladder,
and while he was gone the Horners gathered
around and welcomed the strangers to their
country, for through them a great war had been
avoided.
In a little while Diksey came back with a
tall ladder which he placed against the fence. Ojo
at once climbed to the top of the ladder and
Dorothy went about halfway up and Scraps stood at
the foot of it. Toto ran around it and barked.
Then Ojo pulled the Scarecrow away from the picket
and passed him down to Dorothy, who in turn
lowered him to the Patchwork Girl.
As soon as he was on his feet and standing
on solid ground the Scarecrow said:
"Much obliged. I feel much better. I'm not
stuck on that picket any more."
The Horners began to laugh, thinking this
was a joke, but the Scarecrow shook himself and
patted his straw a little and said to Dorothy:
"Is there much of a hole in my back?"
The little girl examined him carefully.
"There's quite a hole," she said. "But I've got
a needle and thread in the knapsack and I'll sew
you up again."
"Do so," he begged earnestly, and again the
Hoppers laughed, to the Scarecrow's great
annoyance.
While Dorothy was sewing up the hole in
the straw man's back Scraps examined the other
parts of him.
"One of his legs is ripped, too!" she exclaimed.
"Oho!" cried little Diksey; "that's bad. Give
him the needle and thread and let him mend
his ways."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Chief, and the
other Horners at once roared with laughter.
"What's funny?" inquired the Scarecrow sternly.
"Don't you see?" asked Diksey, who had
laughed even harder than the others. "That's a
joke. It's by odds the best joke I ever made.
You walk with your legs, and so that's the way
you walk, and your legs are the ways. See? So,
when you mend your legs, you mend your ways.
Ho, ho, ho! hee, hee! I'd no idea I could make
such a fine joke!"
"Just wonderful!" echoed the Chief. "How do you
manage to do it, Diksey?"
"I don't know," said Diksey modestly. "Perhaps
it's the radium, but I rather think it's my
splendid intellect."
"If you don't quit it," the Scarecrow told him,
"there'll be a worse war than the one you've
escaped from."
Ojo had been deep in thought, and now he
asked the Chief: "Is there a dark well in any
part of your country?"
"A dark well? None that ever I heard of," was
the answer.
"Oh, yes," said Diksey, who overheard the
boy's question. "There's a very dark well down
in my radium mine."
"Is there any water in it?" Ojo eagerly asked.
"Can't say; I've never looked to see. But we
can find out."
So, as soon as the Scarecrow was mended,
they decided to go with Diksey to the mine.
When Dorothy had patted the straw man into
shape again he declared he felt as good as new
and equal to further adventures.
"Still," said he, "I prefer not to do picket
duty again. High life doesn't seem to agree with
my constitution." And then they hurried away
to escape the laughter of the Horners, who
thought this was another joke.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ojo Finds the Dark Well
They now followed Diksey to the farther end of
the great cave, beyond the Horner city, where
there were several round, dark holes leading into
the ground in a slanting direction. Diksey went to
one of these holes and said:
"Here is the mine in which lies the dark well
you are seeking. Follow me and step carefully and
I'll lead you to the place."
He went in first and after him came Ojo, and
then Dorothy, with the Scarecrow behind her.
The Patchwork Girl entered last of all, for Toto
kept close beside his little mistress.
A few steps beyond the mouth of the opening it
was pitch dark. "You won't lose your way, though,"
said the Horner, "for there's only one way to go.
The mine's mine and I know every step of the way.
How's that for a joke, eh? The mine's mine." Then
he chuckled gleefully as they followed him
silently down the steep slant. The hole was just
big enough to permit them to walk upright,
although the Scarecrow, being much the taller of
the party, often had to bend his head to keep from
hitting the top.
The floor of the tunnel was difficult to walk
upon because it had been worn smooth as glass, and
pretty soon Scraps, who was some distance behind
the others, slipped and fell head foremost. At
once she began to slide downward, so swiftly that
when she came to the Scarecrow she knocked him off
his feet and sent him tumbling against Dorothy,
who tripped up Ojo. The boy fell against the
Horner, so that all went tumbling down the slide
in a regular mix-up, unable to see where they were
going because of the darkness.
Fortunately, when they reached the bottom the
Scarecrow and Scraps were in front, and the others
bumped against them, so that no one was hurt. They
found themselves in a vast cave which was dimly
lighted by the tiny grains of radium that lay
scattered among the loose rocks.
"Now," said Diksey, when they had all regained
their feet, "I will show you where the dark well
is. This is a big place, but if we hold fast to
each other we won't get lost."
They took hold of hands and the Horner led
them into a dark corner, where he halted.
"Be careful," said he warningly. "The well is
at your feet."
"All right," replied Ojo, and kneeling down
he felt in the well with his hand and found
that it contained a quantity of water. "Where's
the gold flask, Dorothy?" he asked, and the
little girl handed him the flask, which she had
brought with her.
Ojo knelt again and by feeling carefully in
the dark managed to fill the flask with the
unseen water that was in the well. Then he
screwed the top of the flask firmly in place and
put the precious water in his pocket.
"All right!" he said again, in a glad voice;
"now we can go back."
They returned to the mouth of the tunnel and
began to creep cautiously up the incline. This
time they made Scraps stay behind, for fear she
would slip again; but they all managed to get up
in safety and the Munchkin boy was very happy when
he stood in the Horner city and realized that the
water from the dark well, which he and his friends
had traveled so far to secure, was safe in his
jacket pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
They Bribe the Lazy Quadling
"Now," said Dorothy, as they stood on the mountain
path, having left behind them the cave in which
dwelt the Hoppers and the Horners, "I think we
must find a road into the Country of the Winkies,
for there is where Ojo wants to go next."
"Is there such a road?" asked the Scarecrow.
"I don't know," she replied. "I s'pose we can go
back the way we came, to Jack Pumpkinhead's house,
and then turn into the Winkie Country; but that
seems like running 'round a haystack, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said the Scarecrow. "What is the next
thing Ojo must get?"
"A yellow butterfly," answered the boy.
"That means the Winkie Country, all right,
for it's the yellow country of Oz," remarked
Dorothy. "I think, Scarecrow, we ought to take
him to the Tin Woodman, for he's the Emp'ror
of the Winkies and will help us to find what
Ojo wants."
"Of course," replied the Scarecrow, brightening
at the suggestion. "The Tin Woodman will do
anything we ask him, for he's one of my dearest
friends. I believe we can take a crosscut into his
country and so get to his castle a day sooner
than if we travel back the way we came."
"I think so, too," said the girl; "and that means
we must keep to the left."
They were obliged to go down the mountain before
they found any path that led in the direction they
wanted to go, but among the tumbled rocks at the
foot of the mountain was a faint trail which they
decided to follow. Two or three hours walk along
this trail brought them to a clear, level country,
where there were a few farms and some scattered
houses. But they knew they were still in the
Country of the Quadlings, because everything had a
bright red color. Not that the trees and grasses
were red, but the fences and houses were painted
that color and all the wild-flowers that bloomed
by the wayside had red blossoms. This part of the
Quadling Country seemed peaceful and prosperous,
if rather lonely, and the road was more distinct
and easier to follow.
But just as they were congratulating themselves
upon the progress they had made they came upon a
broad river which swept along between high banks,
and here the road ended and there was no bridge of
any sort to allow them to cross.
"This is queer," mused Dorothy, looking at
the water reflectively. "Why should there be
any road, if the river stops everyone walking
along it?"
"Wow!" said Toto, gazing earnestly into her
face.
"That's the best answer you'll get," declared
the Scarecrow, with his comical smile, "for no
one knows any more than Toto about this road."
Said Scraps:
"Ev'ry time I see a river,
I have chills that make me shiver,
For I never can forget
All the water's very wet.
If my patches get a soak
It will be a sorry joke;
So to swim I'll never try
Till I find the water dry."
"Try to control yourself, Scraps," said Ojo;
"you're getting crazy again. No one intends to swim
that river."
"No," decided Dorothy, "we couldn't swim it
if we tried. It's too big a river, and the water
moves awful fast."
"There ought to be a ferryman with a boat,"
said the Scarecrow; "but I don't see any."
"Couldn't we make a raft?" suggested Ojo.
"There's nothing to make one of," answered
Dorothy.
"Wow!" said Toto again, and Dorothy saw he
was looking along the bank of the river.
"Why, he sees a house over there!" cried the
little girl. "I wonder we didn't notice it
ourselves. Let's go and ask the people how to
get 'cross the river."
A quarter of a mile along the bank stood a
small, round house, painted bright red, and as
it was on their side of the river they hurried
toward it. A chubby little man, dressed all in
red, came out to greet them, and with him were
two children, also in red costumes. The man's
eyes were big and staring as he examined the
Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl, and the
children shyly hid behind him and peeked
timidly at Toto.
"Do you live here, my good man?" asked the
Scarecrow.
"I think I do, Most Mighty Magician," replied
the Quadling, bowing low; "but whether I'm awake
or dreaming I can't be positive, so I'm not sure
where I live. If you'll kindly pinch me I'll find
out all about it!"
"You're awake," said Dorothy, "and this is no
magician, but just the Scarecrow."
"But he's alive," protested the man, "and he
oughtn't to be, you know. And that other dreadful
person--the girl who is all patches--seems to be
alive, too."
"Very much so," declared Scraps, making a
face at him. "But that isn't your affair, you
know."
"I've a right to be surprised, haven't I?" asked
the man meekly.
"I'm not sure; but anyhow you've no right to say
I'm dreadful. The Scarecrow, who is a gentleman of
great wisdom, thinks I'm beautiful," retorted
Scraps.
"Never mind all that," said Dorothy. "Tell us,
good Quadling, how we can get across the river."
"I don't know," replied the Quadling.
"Don't you ever cross it?" asked the girl.
"Never."
"Don't travelers cross it?"
"Not to my knowledge," said he.
They were much surprised to hear this, and
the man added: "It's a pretty big river, and the
current is strong. I know a man who lives on
the opposite bank, for I've seen him there a good
many years; but we've never spoken because
neither of us has ever crossed over."
"That's queer," said the Scarecrow. "Don't you
own a boat?"
The man shook his head.
"Nor a raft?"
"Where does this river go to?" asked Dorothy.
"That way," answered the man, pointing with
one hand, "it goes into the Country of the
Winkies, which is ruled by the Tin Emperor,
who must be a mighty magician because he's
all made of tin, and yet he's alive. And that
way," pointing with the other hand, "the river
runs between two mountains where dangerous
people dwell."
The Scarecrow looked at the water before them.
"The current flows toward the Winkie Country,"
said he; "and so, if we had a boat, or a raft, the
river would float us there more quickly and more
easily than we could walk."
"That is true," agreed Dorothy; and then they
all looked thoughtful and wondered what could
be done.
"Why can't the man make us a raft?" asked Ojo.
"Will you?" inquired Dorothy, turning to the
Quadling.
The chubby man shook his head.
"I'm too lazy," he said. "My wife says I'm the
laziest man in all Oz, and she is a truthful
woman. I hate work of any kind, and making a raft
is hard work."
"I'll give you my em'rald ring," promised the
girl.
"No; I don't care for emeralds. If it were a
ruby, which is the color I like best, I might work
a little while."
"I've got some Square Meal Tablets," said the
Scarecrow. "Each one is the same as a dish of
soup, a fried fish, a mutton pot-pie, lobster
salad, charlotte russe and lemon jelly--all made
into one little tablet that you can swallow
without trouble."
"Without trouble!" exclaimed the Quadling,
much interested; "then those tablets would be
fine for a lazy man. It's such hard work to chew
when you eat."
"I'll give you six of those tablets if you'll
help us make a raft," promised the Scarecrow.
"They're a combination of food which people who
eat are very fond of. I never eat, you know, being
straw; but some of my friends eat regularly. What
do you say to my offer, Quadling?"
"I'll do it," decided the man. "I'll help, and
you can do most of the work. But my wife has
gone fishing for red eels to-day, so some of you
will have to mind the children."
Scraps promised to do that, and the children
were not so shy when the Patchwork Girl sat
down to play with them. They grew to like
Toto, too, and the little dog allowed them to
pat him on his head, which gave the little ones
much joy.
There were a number of fallen trees near the
house and the Quadling got his axe and chopped
them into logs of equal length. He took his wife's
clothesline to bind these logs together, so that
they would form a raft, and Ojo found some strips
of wood and nailed them along the tops of the
logs, to render them more firm. The Scarecrow and
Dorothy helped roll the logs together and carry
the strips of wood, but it took so long to make
the raft that evening came just as it was
finished, and with evening the Quadling's wife
returned from her fishing.
The woman proved to be cross and bad-tempered,
perhaps because she had only caught one red eel
during all the day. When she found that her
husband had used her clothesline, and the logs she
had wanted for firewood, and the boards she had
intended to mend the shed with, and a lot of gold
nails, she became very angry. Scraps wanted to
shake the woman, to make her behave, but Dorothy
talked to her in a gentle tone and told the
Quadling's wife she was a Princess of Oz and a
friend of Ozma and that when she got back to the
Emerald City she would send them a lot of things
to repay them for the raft, including a new
clothesline. This promise pleased the woman and
she soon became more pleasant, saying they could
stay the night at her house and begin their voyage
on the river next morning.
This they did, spending a pleasant evening
with the Quadling family and being entertained
with such hospitality as the poor people were
able to offer them. The man groaned a good
deal and said he had overworked himself by
chopping the logs, but the Scarecrow gave him
two more tablets than he had promised, which
seemed to comfort the lazy fellow.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Trick River
Next morning they pushed the raft into the water
and all got aboard. The Quadling man had to hold
the log craft fast while they took their places,
and the flow of the river was so powerful that it
nearly tore the raft from his hands. As soon as
they were all seated upon the logs he let go and
away it floated and the adventurers had begun
their voyage toward the Winkie Country.
The little house of the Quadlings was out of
sight almost before they had cried their goodbyes,
and the Scarecrow said in a pleased voice:
"It won't take us long to get to the Winkie
Country, at this rate."
They had floated several miles down the stream
and were enjoying the ride when suddenly the raft
slowed up, stopped short, and then began to float
back the way it had come.
"Why, what's wrong?" asked Dorothy, in
astonishment; but they were all just as bewildered
as she was and at first no one could answer the
question. Soon, however, they realized the truth:
that the current of the river had reversed and the
water was now flowing in the opposite direction--
toward the mountains.
They began to recognize the scenes they had
passed, and by and by they came in sight of the
little house of the Quadlings again. The man
was standing on the river bank and he called
to them:
"How do you do? Glad to see you again. I forgot
to tell you that the river changes its direction
every little while. Sometimes it flows one way,
and sometimes the other."
They had no time to answer him, for the raft
was swept past the house and a long distance on
the other side of it.
"We're going just the way we don't want to
go," said Dorothy, "and I guess the best thing
we can do is to get to land before we're carried
any farther."
But they could not get to land. They had
no oars, nor even a pole to guide the raft with.
The logs which bore them floated in the middle
of the stream and were held fast in that position
by the strong current.
So they sat still and waited and, even while
they were wondering what could be done, the raft
slowed down, stopped, and began drifting the other
way--in the direction it had first followed. After
a time they repassed the Quadling house and the
man was still standing on the bank. He cried out
to them:
"Good day! Glad to see you again. I expect
I shall see you a good many times, as you go
by, unless you happen to swim ashore."
By that time they had left him behind and
were headed once more straight toward the
Winkie Country.
"This is pretty hard luck," said Ojo in a
discouraged voice. "The Trick River keeps
changing, it seems, and here we must float back
and forward forever, unless we manage in some way
to get ashore."
"Can you swim?" asked Dorothy.
"No; I'm Ojo the Unlucky."
"Neither can I. Toto can swim a little, but
that won't help us to get to shore."
"I don't know whether I could swim, or not,"
remarked Scraps; "but if I tried it I'd surely ruin
my lovely patches."
"My straw would get soggy in the water and
I would sink," said the Scarecrow.
So there seemed no way out of their dilemma
and being helpless they simply sat still. Ojo,
who was on the front of the raft, looked over
into the water and thought he saw some large
fishes swimming about. He found a loose end
of the clothesline which fastened the logs
together, and taking a gold nail from his pocket
he bent it nearly double, to form a hook, and
tied it to the end of the line. Having baited the
hook with some bread which he broke from his
loaf, he dropped the line into the water and
almost instantly it was seized by a great fish.
They knew it was a great fish, because it
pulled so hard on the line that it dragged the
raft forward even faster than the current of the
river had carried it. The fish was frightened,
and it was a strong swimmer. As the other end
of the clothesline was bound around the logs
he could not get it away, and as he had greedily
swallowed the gold hook at the first bite he
could not get rid of that, either.
When they reached the place where the current
had before changed, the fish was still swimming
ahead in its wild attempt to escape. The raft
slowed down, yet it did not stop, because the fish
would not let it. It continued to move in the same
direction it had been going. As the current
reversed and rushed backward on its course it
failed to drag the raft with it. Slowly, inch by
inch, they floated on, and the fish tugged and
tugged and kept them going.
"I hope he won't give up," said Ojo anxiously.
"If the fish can hold out until the current
changes again, we'll be all right."
The fish did not give up, but held the raft
bravely on its course, till at last the water in
the river shifted again and floated them the way
they wanted to go. But now the captive fish
found its strength failing. Seeking a refuge, it
began to drag the raft toward the shore. As they
did not wish to land in this place the boy cut
the rope with his pocket-knife and set the fish
free, just in time to prevent the raft from
grounding.
The next time the river backed up the Scarecrow
managed to seize the branch of a tree that
overhung the water and they all assisted him to
hold fast and prevent the raft from being carried
backward. While they waited here, Ojo spied a long
broken branch lying upon the bank, so he leaped
ashore and got it. When he had stripped off the
side shoots he believed he could use the branch as
a pole, to guide the raft in case of emergency.
They clung to the tree until they found the
water flowing the right way, when they let go
and permitted the raft to resume its voyage. In
spite of these pauses they were really making
good progress toward the Winkie Country and
having found a way to conquer the adverse
current their spirits rose considerably. They
could see little of the country through which
they were passing, because of the high banks,
and they met with no boats or other craft upon
the surface of the river.
Once more the trick river reversed its current,
but this time the Scarecrow was on guard and
used the pole to push the raft toward a big
rock which lay in the water. He believed the
rock would prevent their floating backward with
the current, and so it did. They clung to this
anchorage until the water resumed its proper
direction, when they allowed the raft to drift on.
Floating around a bend they saw ahead a high
bank of water, extending across the entire river,
and toward this they were being irresistibly
carried. There being no way to arrest the progress
of the raft they clung fast to the logs and let
the river sweep them on. Swiftly the raft climbed
the bank of water and slid down on the other side,
plunging its edge deep into the water and
drenching them all with spray.
As again the raft righted and drifted on,
Dorothy and Ojo laughed at the ducking they had
received; but Scraps was much dismayed and the
Scarecrow took out his handkerchief and wiped the
water off the Patchwork Girl's patches as well as
he was able to. The sun soon dried her and the
colors of her patches proved good, for they did
not run together nor did they fade.
After passing the wall of water the current did
not change or flow backward any more but continued
to sweep them steadily forward. The banks of the
river grew lower, too, permitting them to see more
of the country, and presently they discovered
yellow buttercups and dandelions growing amongst
the grass, from which evidence they knew they had
reached the Winkie Country.
"Don't you think we ought to land?" Dorothy
asked the Scarecrow.
"Pretty soon," he replied. "The Tin Woodman's
castle is in the southern part of the Winkie
Country, and so it can't be a great way from
here."
Fearing they might drift too far, Dorothy and
Ojo now stood up and raised the Scarecrow in
their arms, as high as they could, thus allowing
him a good view of the country. For a time he
saw nothing he recognized, but finally he cried:
"There it is! There it is!"
"What?" asked Dorothy.
"The Tin Woodman's tin castle. I can see
its turrets glittering in the sun. It's quite a way
off, but we'd better land as quickly as we can."
They let him down and began to urge the raft
toward the shore by means of the pole. It obeyed
very well, for the current was more sluggish
now, and soon they had reached the bank and
landed safely.
The Winkie Country was really beautiful,
and across the fields they could see afar the
silvery sheen of the tin castle. With light hearts
they hurried toward it, being fully rested by
their long ride on the river.
By and by they began to cross an immense
field of splendid yellow lilies, the delicate
fragrance of which was very delightful.
"How beautiful they are!" cried Dorothy,
stopping to admire the perfection of these
exquisite flowers.
"Yes," said the Scarecrow, reflectively, "but
we must be careful not to crush or injure any
of these lilies."
"Why not?" asked Ojo.
"The Tin Woodman is very kind-hearted,"
was the reply, "and he hates to see any living
thing hurt in any way."
"Are flowers alive?" asked Scraps.
"Yes, of course. And these flowers belong to
the Tin Woodman. So, in order not to offend
him, we must not tread on a single blossom."
"Once," said Dorothy, "the Tin Woodman
stepped on a beetle and killed the little creature.
That made him very unhappy and he cried until
his tears rusted his joints, so he couldn't move
'em."
"What did he do then?" asked Ojo.
"Put oil on them, until the joints worked
smooth again."
"Oh!" exclaimed the boy, as if a great discovery
had flashed across his mind. But he did not tell
anybody what the discovery was and kept the idea
to himself.
It was a long walk, but a pleasant one, and
they did not mind it a bit. Late in the afternoon
they drew near to the wonderful tin castle of
the Emperor of the Winkies, and Ojo and
Scraps, who had never seen it before, were
filled with amazement.
Tin abounded in the Winkie Country and
the Winkies were said to be the most skillful
tinsmiths in all the world. So the Tin Woodman
had employed them in building his magnificent
castle, which was all of tin, from the ground to
the tallest turret, and so brightly polished that
it glittered in the sun's rays more gorgeously
than silver. Around the grounds of the castle
ran a tin wall, with tin gates; but the gates stood
wide open because the Emperor had no enemies
to disturb him.
When they entered the spacious grounds our
travelers found more to admire. Tin fountains sent
sprays of clear water far into the air and there
were many beds of tin flowers, all as perfectly
formed as any natural flowers might be. There
were tin trees, too, and here and there shady
bowers of tin, with tin benches and chairs to sit
upon. Also, on the sides of the pathway leading up
to the front door of the castle, were rows of tin
statuary, very cleverly executed. Among these Ojo
recognized statues of Dorothy, Toto, the
Scarecrow, the Wizard, the Shaggy Man, Jack
Pumpkinhead and Ozma, all standing upon neat
pedestals of tin.
Toto was well acquainted with the residence of
the Tin Woodman and, being assured a joyful
welcome, he ran ahead and barked so loudly at the
front door that the Tin Woodman heard him and came
out in person to see if it were really his old
friend Toto. Next moment the tin man had clasped
the Scarecrow in a warm embrace and then turned
to hug Dorothy. But now his eye was arrested by
the strange sight of the Patchwork Girl, and he
gazed upon her in mingled wonder and admiration.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Tin Woodman Objects
The Tin Woodman was one of the most important
personages in all Oz. Though Emperor of the
Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all
the land, and the girl and the tin man were warm
personal friends. He was something of a dandy and
kept his tin body brilliantly polished and his tin
joints well oiled. Also he was very courteous in
manner and so kind and gentle that everyone loved
him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and Scraps with
cordial hospitality and ushered the entire party
into his handsome tin parlor, where all the
furniture and pictures were made of tin. The walls
were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling
hung tin chandeliers.
The Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of
all, where Dorothy had found the Patchwork
Girl, so between them the visitors told the story
of how Scraps was made, as well as the accident
to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie and how Ojo
had set out upon a journey to procure the things
needed for the Crooked Magician's magic
charm. Then Dorothy told of their adventures
in the Quadling Country and how at last they
succeeded in getting the water from a dark well.
While the little girl was relating these
adventures the Tin Woodman sat in an easy chair
listening with intense interest, while the others
sat grouped around him. Ojo, however, had kept his
eyes fixed upon the body of the tin Emperor, and
now he noticed that under the joint of his left
knee a tiny drop of oil was forming. He watched
this drop of oil with a fast-beating heart, and
feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of
crystal, which he held secreted in his hand.
Presently the Tin Woodman changed his
position, and at once Ojo, to the astonishment
of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal
vial under the Emperor's knee joint. Just then
the drop of oil fell, and the boy caught it in
his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then,
with a red face and embarrassed manner, he rose
to confront the others.
"What in the world were you doing?" asked
the Tin Woodman.
"I caught a drop of oil that fell from your
knee-joint," confessed Ojo.
"A drop of oil!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman.
"Dear me, how careless my valet must have
been in oiling me this morning. I'm afraid I
shall have to scold the fellow, for I can't be
dropping oil wherever I go."
"Never mind," said Dorothy. "Ojo seems glad
to have the oil, for some reason."
"Yes," declared the Munchkin boy, "I am
glad. For one of the things the Crooked Magician
sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man's
body. I had no idea, at first, that there was such
a thing; but it's now safe in the little crystal
vial."
"You are very welcome to it, indeed," said
the Tin Woodman. "Have you now secured all
the things you were in search of?"
"Not quite all," answered Ojo. "There were five
things I had to get, and I have found four of
them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a
Woozy's tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water
from a dark well and a drop of oil from a live
man's body. The last thing is the easiest of all
to get, and I'm sure that my dear Unc Nunkie--and
good Margolotte, as well--will soon be restored to
life."
The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and
pleasure.
"Good!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman; "I
congratulate you. But what is the fifth and last
thing you need, in order to complete the magic
charm?"
"The left wing of a yellow butterfly," said
Ojo. "In this yellow country, and with your
kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to
find."
The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.
"Surely you are joking!" he said.
"No," replied Ojo, much surprised; "I am in
earnest."
"But do you think for a moment that I would
permit you, or anyone else, to pull the left wing
from a yellow butterfly?" demanded the Tin Woodman
sternly.
"Why not, sir?"
"Why not? You ask me why not? It would be
cruel--one of the most cruel and heartless deeds
I ever heard of," asserted the Tin Woodman.
"The butterflies are among the prettiest of all
created things, and they are very sensitive to
pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it
exquisite torture and it would soon die in great
agony. I would not permit such a wicked deed
under any circumstances!"
Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too,
looked grave and disconcerted, but she knew in her
heart that the Tin Woodman was right. The
Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his
friend's speech, so it was evident that he agreed
with the Emperor's decision. Scraps looked from
one to another in perplexity.
"Who cares for a butterfly?" she asked.
"Don't you?" inquired the Tin Woodman.
"Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart,"
said the Patchwork Girl. "But I want to help
Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle whom
he loves, and I'd kill a dozen useless butterflies
to enable him to do that."
The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.
"You have kind instincts," he said, "and with a
heart you would indeed be a fine creature. I
cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you
cannot understand the feelings of those who
possess hearts. I, for instance, have a very neat
and responsive heart which the wonderful Wizard
of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never--never--
never permit a poor yellow butterfly to be
tortured by anyone."
"The yellow country of the Winkies," said Ojo
sadly, "is the only place in Oz where a yellow
butterfly can be found."
"I'm glad of that," said the Tin Woodman.
"As I rule the Winkie Country, I can protect
my butterflies."
"Unless I get the wing--just one left wing--"
said Ojo miserably, "I can't save Unc Nunkie."
"Then he must remain a marble statue forever,"
declared the Tin Emperor, firmly.
Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back
the tears.
"I'll tell you what to do," said Scraps. "We'll
take a whole yellow butterfly, alive and well, to
the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the left
wing off."
"No, you won't," said the Tin Woodman.
"You can't have one of my dear little butterflies
to treat in that way."
"Then what in the world shall we do?" asked
Dorothy.
They all became silent and thoughtful. No
one spoke for a long time. Then the Tin Woodman
suddenly roused himself and said:
"We must all go back to the Emerald City
and ask Ozma's advice. She's a wise little girl,
our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo
save his Unc Nunkie."
So the following morning the party started
on the journey to the Emerald City, which they
reached in due time without any important
adventure. It was a sad journey for Ojo, for
without the wing of the yellow butterfly he saw
no way to save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited
six years for the Crooked Magician to make a
new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was
utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he
groaned aloud.
"Is anything hurting you?" inquired the Tin
Woodman in a kindly tone, for the Emperor
was with the party.
"I'm Ojo the Unlucky," replied the boy. "I
might have known I would fail in anything
I tried to do."
"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?" asked the tin
man.
"Because I was born on a Friday."
"Friday is not unlucky," declared the Emperor.
"It's just one of seven days. Do you suppose all
the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the
time?"
"It was the thirteenth day of the month," said
Ojo.
"Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number,"
replied the Tin Woodman. "All my good luck seems
to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most
people never notice the good luck that comes to
them with the number 13, and yet if the least bit
of bad luck falls on that day, they blame it to
the number, and not to the proper cause."
"Thirteen's my lucky number, too," remarked the
Scarecrow.
"And mine," said Scraps. "I've just thirteen
patches on my head."
"But," continued Ojo, "I'm left-handed."
"Many of our greatest men are that way,"
asserted the Emperor. "To be left-handed is
usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people
are usually one-handed."
"And I've a wart under my right arm," said Ojo.
"How lucky!" cried the Tin Woodman. "If
it were on the end of your nose it might be
unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out
of the way."
"For all those reasons," said the Munchkin
boy, "I have been called Ojo the Unlucky."
"Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you
henceforth Ojo the Lucky," declared the tin man.
"Every reason you have given is absurd. But I have
noticed that those who continually dread ill luck
and fear it will overtake them, have no time to
take advantage of any good fortune that comes
their way. Make up your mind to be Ojo the
Lucky."
"How can I?" asked the boy, "when all my
attempts to save my dear uncle have failed?"
"Never give up, Ojo," advised Dorothy. "No
one ever knows what's going to happen next."
Ojo did not reply, but he was so dejected that
even their arrival at the Emerald City failed to
interest him.
The people joyfully cheered the appearance of
the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow and Dorothy, who
were all three general favorites, and on entering
the royal palace word came to them from Ozma that
she would at once grant them an audience.
Dorothy told the girl Ruler how successful
they had been in their quest until they came to
the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin
Woodman positively refused to sacrifice to the
magic potion.
"He is quite right," said Ozma, who did not seem
a bit surprised. "Had Ojo told me that one of the
things he sought was the wing of a yellow
butterfly I would have informed him, before he
started out, that he could never secure it. Then
you would have been saved the troubles and
annoyances of your long journey."
"I didn't mind the journey at all," said
Dorothy; "it was fun."
"As it has turned out," remarked Ojo, "I can
never get the things the Crooked Magician sent
me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for
him to make the Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie
cannot be saved."
Ozma smiled.
"Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life,
I promise you," said she. "I have sent for him
and had him brought to this palace, where he
now is, and his four kettles have been destroyed
and his book of recipes burned up. I have also
had brought here the marble statues of your
uncle and of Margolotte, which are standing in
the next room."
They were all greatly astonished at this
announcement.
"Oh, let me see Unc Nunkie! Let me see him
at once, please!" cried Ojo eagerly.
"Wait a moment," replied Ozma, "for I have
something more to say. Nothing that happens
in the Land of Oz escapes the notice of our wise
Sorceress, Glinda the Good. She knew all about
the magic-making of Dr. Pipt, and how he had
brought the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl
to life, and the accident to Unc Nunkie and
Margolotte, and of Ojo's quest and his journey
with Dorothy. Glinda also knew that Ojo would
fail to find all the things he sought, so she sent
for our Wizard and instructed him what to do.
Something is going to happen in this palace,
presently, and that 'something' will, I am sure,
please you all. And now," continued the girl
Ruler, rising from her chair, "you may follow
me into the next room."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
When Ojo entered the room he ran quickly to
the statue of Unc Nunkie and kissed the marble
face affectionately.
"I did my best, Unc," he said, with a sob, "but
it was no use!"
Then he drew back and looked around the room,
and the sight of the assembled company quite
amazed him.
Aside from the marble statues of Unc Nunkie and
Margolotte, the Glass Cat was there, curled up on
a rug; and the Woozy was there, sitting on its
square hind legs and looking on the scene with
solemn interest; and there was the Shaggy Man, in
a suit of shaggy pea-green satin, and at a table
sat the little Wizard, looking quite important and
as if he knew much more than he cared to tell.
Last of all, Dr. Pipt was there, and the
Crooked Magician sat humped up in a chair,
seeming very dejected but keeping his eyes fixed
on the lifeless form of his wife Margolotte,
whom he fondly loved but whom he now feared
was lost to him forever.
Ozma took a chair which Jellia Jamb wheeled
forward for the Ruler, and back of her stood the
Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Dorothy, as
well as the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry
Tiger. The Wizard now arose and made a low
bow to Ozma and another less deferent bow to
the assembled company.
"Ladies and gentlemen and beasts," he said,
"I beg to announce that our Gracious Ruler has
permitted me to obey the commands of the great
Sorceress, Glinda the Good, whose humble Assistant
I am proud to be. We have discovered that the
Crooked Magician has been indulging in his magical
arts contrary to Law, and therefore, by Royal
Edict, I hereby deprive him of all power to work
magic in the future. He is no longer a crooked
magician, but a simple Munchkin; he is no longer
even crooked, but a man like other men."
As he pronounced these words the Wizard
waved his hand toward Dr. Pipt and instantly
every crooked limb straightened out and became
perfect. The former magician, with a cry of joy,
sprang to his feet, looked at himself in wonder,
and then fell back in his chair and watched the
Wizard with fascinated interest.
"The Glass Cat, which Dr. Pipt lawlessly
made," continued the Wizard, "is a pretty cat,
but its pink brains made it so conceited that it
was a disagreeable companion to everyone. So
the other day I took away the pink brains and
replaced them with transparent ones, and now
the Glass Cat is so modest and well behaved
that Ozma has decided to keep her in the palace
as a pet."
"I thank you," said the cat, in a soft voice.
"The Woozy has proved himself a good Woozy and a
faithful friend," the Wizard went on, "so we will
send him to the Royal Menagerie, where he will
have good care and plenty to eat all his life."
"Much obliged," said the Woozy. "That beats
being fenced up in a lonely forest and starved."
"As for the Patchwork Girl," resumed the Wizard,
"she is so remarkable in appearance, and so clever
and good tempered, that our Gracious Ruler intends
to preserve her carefully, as one of the
curiosities of the curious Land of Oz. Scraps may
live in the palace, or wherever she pleases, and
be nobody's servant but her own."
"That's all right," said Scraps.
"We have all been interested in Ojo," the little
Wizard continued, "because his love for his
unfortunate uncle has led him bravely to face all
sorts of dangers, in order that he might rescue
him. The Munchkin boy has a loyal and generous
heart and has done his best to restore Unc Nunkie
to life. He has failed, but there are others more
powerful than the Crooked Magician, and there are
more ways than Dr. Pipt knew of to destroy the
charm of the Liquid of Petrifaction. Glinda the
Good has told me of one way, and you shall now
learn how great is the knowledge and power of our
peerless Sorceress."
As he said this the Wizard advanced to the
statue of Margolote and made a magic pass, at
the same time muttering a magic word that
none could hear distinctly. At once the woman
moved, turned her head wonderingly this way
and that, to note all who stood before her, and
seeing Dr. Pipt, ran forward and threw herself
into her husband's outstretched arms.
Then the Wizard made the magic pass and
spoke the magic word before the statue of Unc
Nunkie. The old Munchkin immediately came
to life and with a low bow to the Wizard said:
"Thanks."
But now Ojo rushed up and threw his arms
joyfully about his uncle, and the old man
hugged his little nephew tenderly and stroked
his hair and wiped away the boy's tears with a
handkerchief, for Ojo was crying from pure
happiness.
Ozma came forward to congratulate them.
"I have given to you, my dear Ojo and Unc
Nunkie, a nice house just outside the walls of
the Emerald City," she said, "and there you
shall make your future home and be under my
protection."
"Didn't I say you were Ojo the Lucky?"
asked the Tin Woodman, as everyone crowded
around to shake Ojo's hand.
"Yes; and it is true!" replied Ojo, gratefully.