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The Patchwork Girl of Oz
by L. Frank Baum
June, 1997 [Etext #955]
*Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Patchwork Girl of Oz by Baum*
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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 - Scrapes 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 be side
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
"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 tomorrow 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, white-
bearded Munchkin and the little boy. Both were
thinking. When it grew quite dark out-side, 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 bun-
trees, 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 high-
bred 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 Class 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
'crazyquilt,' because the patches and colors are
so mixed up. We never have used my grand-mother's
manycolored patchwork quilt, hand-some 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 idea," 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 high-
and-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 tomorrow
morning; but I think it is now cool enough to be
bottled."
He selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-
box 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.
"Meeee-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 spun-
glass 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 be
came 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 fired 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 music-
machine.
"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 six-
leaved 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 over-dose, 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 hack 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-tedoodle-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 crazy-
quilt; 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 crazy-
quilts--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 he 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, hut
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.
"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.
"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 Jaugh.
"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 hounded 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 rag-
time?"
"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 Lad 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 Class 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 Woosy."
"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,"
re-plied 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 n
