The Marvelous Land of Oz

by L. Frank Baum




Author’s Note


After the publication of “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ” I began to
receive letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading
the story and asking me to “write something more” about the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman. At first I considered these little letters, frank
and earnest though they were, in the light of pretty compliments; but
the letters continued to come during succeeding months, and even years.

Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me
and prefer her request,—and she is a “Dorothy,” by the way—that when a
thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking
for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman I would write the book, Either
little Dorothy was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or
the success of the stage production of “The Wizard of OZ” made new
friends for the story, For the thousand letters reached their
destination long since—and many more followed them.

And now, although pleading guilty to long delay, I have kept my promise
in this book.

L. FRANK BAUM.

Chicago, June, 1904

To those excellent good fellows and comedians David C. Montgomery and
Frank A. Stone whose clever personations of the Tin Woodman and the
Scarecrow have delighted thousands of children throughout the land,
this book is gratefully dedicated by THE AUTHOR




LIST OF CHAPTERS

 Tip Manufactures Pumpkinhead
 The Marvelous Powder of Life
 The Flight of the Fugitives
 Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic
 The Awakening of the Saw-horse
 Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride to the Emerald City
 His Majesty the Scarecrow
 Gen. Jinjur’s Army of Revolt
 The Scarecrow Plans an escape
 The Journey to the Tin Woodman
 A Nickel-Plated Emperor
 Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.
 A Highly Magnified History
 Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft
 The Prisoners of the Queen
 The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think
 The Astonishing Flight of the Gump
 In the Jackdaw’s Nest
 Dr. Nikidik’s Famous Wishing Pills
 The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good
 The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose
 The Transformation of Old Mombi
 Princess Ozma of Oz
 The Riches of Content




Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead


In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of
Oz, lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for
old Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no
one was expected to say such a long word when “Tip” would do just as
well.

This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought
when quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose
reputation, I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin
people had reason to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and
therefore hesitated to associate with her.

[Illustration: image016]

Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that
part of the Land of Oz had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her
dominions. So Tip’s guardian, however much she might aspire to working
magic, realized it was unlawful to be more than a Sorceress, or at most
a Wizardess.

Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might
boil her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking;
and he fed the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi’s
especial pride.

But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would
be bad for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for
birds’ eggs or amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or
fishing in the brooks with bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his
armful of wood and carry it home. And when he was supposed to be
working in the corn-fields, and the tall stalks hid him from Mombi’s
view, Tip would often dig in the gopher holes, or if the mood seized
him—lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by
taking care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged
as a boy may be.

Mombi’s curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated
her shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers. But Tip
frankly hated her, and took no pains to hide his feelings. Indeed, he
sometimes showed less respect for the old woman than he should have
done, considering she was his guardian.

There were pumpkins in Mombi’s corn-fields, lying golden red among the
rows of green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended
that the four-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one
day, after the corn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying
the pumpkins to the stable, he took a notion to make a “Jack Lantern”
and try to give the old woman a fright with it.

[Illustration: image017]

So he selected a fine, big pumpkin—one with a lustrous, orange-red
color—and began carving it. With the point of his knife he made two
round eyes, a three-cornered nose, and a mouth shaped like a new moon.
The face, when completed, could not have been considered strictly
beautiful; but it wore a smile so big and broad, and was so Jolly in
expression, that even Tip laughed as he looked admiringly at his work.

The child had no playmates, so he did not know that boys often dig out
the inside of a “pumpkin-jack,” and in the space thus made put a
lighted candle to render the face more startling; but he conceived an
idea of his own that promised to be quite as effective. He decided to
manufacture the form of a man, who would wear this pumpkin head, and to
stand it in a place where old Mombi would meet it face to face.

“And then,” said Tip to himself, with a laugh, “she’ll squeal louder
than the brown pig does when I pull her tail, and shiver with fright
worse than I did last year when I had the ague!”

He had plenty of time to accomplish this task, for Mombi had gone to a
village—to buy groceries, she said—and it was a journey of at least two
days.

[Illustration: image019]

So he took his axe to the forest, and selected some stout, straight
saplings, which he cut down and trimmed of all their twigs and leaves.
From these he would make the arms, and legs, and feet of his man. For
the body he stripped a sheet of thick bark from around a big tree, and
with much labor fashioned it into a cylinder of about the right size,
pinning the edges together with wooden pegs. Then, whistling happily as
he worked, he carefully jointed the limbs and fastened them to the body
with pegs whittled into shape with his knife.

By the time this feat had been accomplished it began to grow dark, and
Tip remembered he must milk the cow and feed the pigs. So he picked up
his wooden man and carried it back to the house with him.

During the evening, by the light of the fire in the kitchen, Tip
carefully rounded all the edges of the joints and smoothed the rough
places in a neat and workmanlike manner. Then he stood the figure up
against the wall and admired it. It seemed remarkably tall, even for a
full-grown man; but that was a good point in a small boy’s eyes, and
Tip did not object at all to the size of his creation.

Next morning, when he looked at his work again, Tip saw he had
forgotten to give the dummy a neck, by means of which he might fasten
the pumpkinhead to the body. So he went again to the forest, which was
not far away, and chopped from a tree several pieces of wood with which
to complete his work. When he returned he fastened a cross-piece to the
upper end of the body, making a hole through the center to hold upright
the neck. The bit of wood which formed this neck was also sharpened at
the upper end, and when all was ready Tip put on the pumpkin head,
pressing it well down onto the neck, and found that it fitted very
well. The head could be turned to one side or the other, as he pleased,
and the hinges of the arms and legs allowed him to place the dummy in
any position he desired.

“Now, that,” declared Tip, proudly, “is really a very fine man, and it
ought to frighten several screeches out of old Mombi! But it would be
much more lifelike if it were properly dressed.”

To find clothing seemed no easy task; but Tip boldly ransacked the
great chest in which Mombi kept all her keepsakes and treasures, and at
the very bottom he discovered some purple trousers, a red shirt and a
pink vest which was dotted with white spots. These he carried away to
his man and succeeded, although the garments did not fit very well, in
dressing the creature in a jaunty fashion. Some knit stockings
belonging to Mombi and a much worn pair of his own shoes completed the
man’s apparel, and Tip was so delighted that he danced up and down and
laughed aloud in boyish ecstacy.

“I must give him a name!” he cried. “So good a man as this must surely
have a name. I believe,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “I will
name the fellow ‘Jack Pumpkinhead!’”

[Illustration: image023]

[Illustration: image024]

[Illustration: image025]




The Marvelous Powder of Life


After considering the matter carefully, Tip decided that the best place
to locate Jack would be at the bend in the road, a little way from the
house. So he started to carry his man there, but found him heavy and
rather awkward to handle. After dragging the creature a short distance
Tip stood him on his feet, and by first bending the joints of one leg,
and then those of the other, at the same time pushing from behind, the
boy managed to induce Jack to walk to the bend in the road. It was not
accomplished without a few tumbles, and Tip really worked harder than
he ever had in the fields or forest; but a love of mischief urged him
on, and it pleased him to test the cleverness of his workmanship.

“Jack’s all right, and works fine!” he said to himself, panting with
the unusual exertion. But just then he discovered the man’s left arm
had fallen off in the journey so he went back to find it, and
afterward, by whittling a new and stouter pin for the shoulder-joint,
he repaired the injury so successfully that the arm was stronger than
before. Tip also noticed that Jack’s pumpkin head had twisted around
until it faced his back; but this was easily remedied. When, at last,
the man was set up facing the turn in the path where old Mombi was to
appear, he looked natural enough to be a fair imitation of a Gillikin
farmer,—and unnatural enough to startle anyone that came on him
unawares.

As it was yet too early in the day to expect the old woman to return
home, Tip went down into the valley below the farm-house and began to
gather nuts from the trees that grew there.

However, old Mombi returned earlier than usual. She had met a crooked
wizard who resided in a lonely cave in the mountains, and had traded
several important secrets of magic with him. Having in this way secured
three new recipes, four magical powders and a selection of herbs of
wonderful power and potency, she hobbled home as fast as she could, in
order to test her new sorceries.

So intent was Mombi on the treasures she had gained that when she
turned the bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the man, she merely
nodded and said:

“Good evening, sir.”

But, a moment after, noting that the person did not move or reply, she
cast a shrewd glance into his face and discovered his pumpkin head
elaborately carved by Tip’s jack-knife.

“Heh!” ejaculated Mombi, giving a sort of grunt; “that rascally boy has
been playing tricks again! Very good! ve—ry _good!_ I’ll beat him
black-and-blue for trying to scare me in this fashion!”

Angrily she raised her stick to smash in the grinning pumpkin head of
the dummy; but a sudden thought made her pause, the uplifted stick left
motionless in the air.

“Why, here is a good chance to try my new powder!” said she, eagerly.
“And then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded
secrets, or whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him.”

So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the
precious powders she had obtained.

While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full
of nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and
apparently not the least bit frightened by it.

At first he was generally disappointed; but the next moment he became
curious to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge,
where he could see without being seen, and prepared to watch.

After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepper-box,
upon the faded label of which the wizard had written with a
lead-pencil:

“Powder of Life.”

“Ah—here it is!” she cried, joyfully. “And now let us see if it is
potent. The stingy wizard didn’t give me much of it, but I guess
there’s enough for two or three doses.”

[Illustration: image029]

Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old
Mombi raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the
pumpkin head of his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would
pepper a baked potato, and the powder sifted down from Jack’s head and
scattered over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip
had dressed him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn
shoes.

Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her
left hand, with its little finger pointed upward, and said:

“Weaugh!”

Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and
said:

“Teaugh!”

Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out,
and cried:

“Peaugh!”

Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a
reproachful voice:

“Don’t yell like that! Do you think I’m deaf?”

Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.

“He lives!” she screamed: “He lives! he lives!”

Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down;
and she hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig;
and all the time she repeated, rapturously:

“He lives!—he lives!—he lives!”

Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.

At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away,
but his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn’t. Then it
struck him as a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially
as the expression on his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it
excited laughter on the instant. So, recovering from his first fear,
Tip began to laugh; and the merry peals reached old Mombi’s ears and
made her hobble quickly to the hedge, where she seized Tip’s collar and
dragged him back to where she had left her basket and the pumpkinheaded
man.

“You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!” she exclaimed, furiously: “I’ll
teach you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” protested Tip. “I was laughing at old
Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn’t he a picture, though?”

“I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance,” said Jack;
and it was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued
to wear its jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.

[Illustration: image032]

Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had
brought to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently
asked:

“What do you know?”

“Well, that is hard to tell,” replied Jack. “For although I feel that I
know a tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the
world to find out about. It will take me a little time to discover
whether I am very wise or very foolish.”

“To be sure,” said Mombi, thoughtfully.

“But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?” asked Tip,
wondering.

“I must think it over,” answered Mombi. “But we must get home at once,
for it is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk.”

“Never mind me,” said Jack; “I can walk as well as you can. Haven’t I
got legs and feet, and aren’t they jointed?”

“Are they?” asked the woman, turning to Tip.

“Of course they are; I made ’em myself,” returned the boy, with pride.

So they started for the house, but when they reached the farm yard old
Mombi led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty
stall, fastening the door securely on the outside.

“I’ve got to attend to you, first,” she said, nodding her head at Tip.

Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he knew Mombi had a bad and
revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any evil thing.

They entered the house. It was a round, domeshaped structure, as are
nearly all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.

Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a
cupboard and hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was
afraid of her.

After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in
the hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her
supper. When the flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked
a share of the bread and cheese; but Mombi refused him.

“I’m hungry!” said Tip, in a sulky tone.

“You won’t be hungry long,” replied Mombi, with a grim look.

The boy didn’t like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he
happened to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of
those and ate them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her
apron, and hung above the fire a small black kettle.

Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them
into the kettle. Next she produced several packets of herbs and powders
and began adding a portion of each to the contents of the kettle.
Occasionally she would draw near the candle and read from a yellow
paper the recipe of the mess she was concocting.

As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.

“What is that for?” he asked.

“For you,” returned Mombi, briefly.

Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle,
which was beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and
wrinkled features of the witch and wish he were any place but in that
dim and smoky kitchen, where even the shadows cast by the candle upon
the wall were enough to give one the horrors. So an hour passed away,
during which the silence was only broken by the bubbling of the pot and
the hissing of the flames.

Finally, Tip spoke again.

“Have I got to drink that stuff?” he asked, nodding toward the pot.

“Yes,” said Mombi.

“What’ll it do to me?” asked Tip.

“If it’s properly made,” replied Mombi, “it will change or transform
you into a marble statue.”

Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his
sleeve.

“I don’t want to be a marble statue!” he protested.

[Illustration: image037]

“That doesn’t matter I want you to be one,” said the old woman, looking
at him severely.

“What use’ll I be then?” asked Tip. “There won’t be any one to work for
you.”

“I’ll make the Pumpkinhead work for me,” said Mombi.

Again Tip groaned.

“Why don’t you change me into a goat, or a chicken?” he asked,
anxiously. “You can’t do anything with a marble statue.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” returned Mombi. “I’m going to plant a flower garden,
next Spring, and I’ll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I
wonder I haven’t thought of that before; you’ve been a bother to me for
years.”

At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all
over his body, but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at
the kettle.

“Perhaps it won’t work,” he mutttered, in a voice that sounded weak and
discouraged.

“Oh, I think it will,” answered Mombi, cheerfully. “I seldom make a
mistake.”

Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that
when Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to
midnight.

“You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold,” announced the old
witch for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practising
witchcraft. “We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call
you and at once complete your transformation into a marble statue.”

With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with
her, and Tip heard her close and lock the door.

The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still
sat glaring at the embers of the dying fire.

[Illustration: image038]

[Illustration: image039]




The Flight of the Fugitives


Tip reflected.

“It’s a hard thing, to be a marble statue,” he thought, rebelliously,
“and I’m not going to stand it. For years I’ve been a bother to her,
she says; so she’s going to get rid of me. Well, there’s an easier way
than to become a statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in
the middle of a flower garden! I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do—and I
may as well go before she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the
kettle.” He waited until the snores of the old witch announced she was
fast asleep, and then he arose softly and went to the cupboard to find
something to eat.

“No use starting on a journey without food,” he decided, searching upon
the narrow shelves.

He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi’s basket
to find the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over
the contents of the basket he came upon the pepper-box which contained
the “Powder of Life.”

“I may as well take this with me,” he thought, “or Mombi’ll be using it
to make more mischief with.” So he put the box in his pocket, together
with the bread and cheese.

Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him.
Outside both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed
peaceful and inviting after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.

“I’ll be glad to get away,” said Tip, softly; “for I never did like
that old woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her.”

He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.

“I don’t like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old
Mombi,” he muttered. “And Jack belongs to me, for I made him even if
the old witch did bring him to life.”

He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the
stall where the pumpkin-headed man had been left.

Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip
could see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.

“Come on!” said the boy, beckoning.

“Where to?” asked Jack.

“You’ll know as soon as I do,” answered Tip, smiling sympathetically
into the pumpkin face.

“All we’ve got to do now is to tramp.”

“Very well,” returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and
into the moonlight.

Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a
sort of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn
backward, instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the
Pumpkinhead was quick to notice this, and began to take more pains to
step carefully; so that he met with few accidents.

[Illustration: image041]

Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not
go very fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank
away and the sun peeped over the hills they had travelled so great a
distance that the boy had no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch.
Moreover, he had turned first into one path, and then into another, so
that should anyone follow them it would prove very difficult to guess
which way they had gone, or where to seek them.

Fairly satisfied that he had escaped—for a time, at least—being turned
into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated himself
upon a rock by the roadside.

“Let’s have some breakfast,” he said.

Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the
repast. “I don’t seem to be made the same way you are,” he said.

“I know you are not,” returned Tip; “for I made you.”

“Oh! Did you?” asked Jack.

[Illustration: image043]

“Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and
ears and mouth,” said Tip proudly. “And dressed you.”

Jack looked at his body and limbs critically.

“It strikes me you made a very good job of it,” he remarked.

“Just so-so,” replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain
defects in the construction of his man. “If I’d known we were going to
travel together I might have been a little more particular.”

“Why, then,” said the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise,
“you must be my creator my parent my father!”

“Or your inventor,” replied the boy with a laugh. “Yes, my son; I
really believe I am!”

“Then I owe you obedience,” continued the man, “and you owe
me—support.”

“That’s it, exactly”, declared Tip, jumping up. “So let us be off.”

“Where are we going?” asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.

“I’m not exactly sure,” said the boy; “but I believe we are headed
South, and that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City.”

“What city is that?” enquired the Pumpkinhead.

“Why, it’s the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all
the country. I’ve never been there, myself, but I’ve heard all about
its history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz,
and everything there is of a green color—just as everything in this
Country of the Gillikins is of a purple color.”

“Is everything here purple?” asked Jack.

“Of course it is. Can’t you see?” returned the boy.

“I believe I must be color-blind,” said the Pumpkinhead, after staring
about him.

“Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses
and fences are purple,” explained Tip. “Even the mud in the roads is
purple. But in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple
here. And in the Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything
is blue; and in the South country of the Quadlings everything is red;
and in the West country of the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules,
everything is yellow.”

“Oh!” said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Did you say a Tin
Woodman rules the Winkies?”

“Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked
Witch of the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited
him to become their ruler,—just as the people of the Emerald City
invited the Scarecrow to rule them.”

“Dear me!” said Jack. “I’m getting confused with all this history. Who
is the Scarecrow?”

“Another friend of Dorothy’s,” replied Tip.

“And who is Dorothy?”

“She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside
World. She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was
here the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels.”

“And where is she now?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.

“Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again,” said
the boy.

“Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?”

“I told you. He rules the Emerald City,” answered Tip.

“I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard,” objected Jack,
seeming more and more confused.

“Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I’ll explain it,” said Tip,
speaking slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the
eye. “Dorothy went to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her
back to Kansas; and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her.
But the Wizard couldn’t send her back, because he wasn’t so much of a
Wizard as he might have been. And then they got angry at the Wizard,
and threatened to expose him; so the Wizard made a big balloon and
escaped in it, and no one has ever seen him since.”

“Now, that is very interesting history,” said Jack, well pleased; “and
I understand it perfectly all but the explanation.”

“I’m glad you do,” responded Tip. “After the Wizard was gone, the
people of the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King;
and I have heard that he became a very popular ruler.”

“Are we going to see this queer King?” asked Jack, with interest.

“I think we may as well,” replied the boy; “unless you have something
better to do.”

“Oh, no, dear father,” said the Pumpkinhead. “I am quite willing to go
wherever you please.”

[Illustration: image047]

[Illustration: image048]

[Illustration: image049]




Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic


The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance seemed somewhat
embarrassed at being called “father” by the tall, awkward,
pumpkinheaded man, but to deny the relationship would involve another
long and tedious explanation; so he changed the subject by asking,
abruptly:

“Are you tired?”

“Of course not!” replied the other. “But,” he continued, after a pause,
“it is quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on
walking.”

Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to
regret that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and
substantially. Yet how could he ever have guessed that the man he had
made merely to scare old Mombi with would be brought to life by means
of a magical powder contained in an old pepper-box?

So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet
remedy the deficiencies of Jack’s weak joints.

While thus engaged they came to the edge of a wood, and the boy sat
down to rest upon an old sawhorse that some woodcutter had left there.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.

“Won’t it strain my joints?” inquired the other.

“Of course not. It’ll rest them,” declared the boy.

So Jack tried to sit down; but as soon as he bent his joints farther
than usual they gave way altogether, and he came clattering to the
ground with such a crash that Tip feared he was entirely ruined.

[Illustration: image050]

He rushed to the man, lifted him to his feet, straightened his arms and
legs, and felt of his head to see if by chance it had become cracked.
But Jack seemed to be in pretty good shape, after all, and Tip said to
him:

“I guess you’d better remain standing, hereafter. It seems the safest
way.”

“Very well, dear father.” just as you say, replied the smiling Jack,
who had been in no wise confused by his tumble.

Tip sat down again. Presently the Pumpkinhead asked:

“What is that thing you are sitting on?”

“Oh, this is a horse,” replied the boy, carelessly.

“What is a horse?” demanded Jack.

“A horse? Why, there are two kinds of horses,” returned Tip, slightly
puzzled how to explain. “One kind of horse is alive, and has four legs
and a head and a tail. And people ride upon its back.”

“I understand,” said Jack, cheerfully “That’s the kind of horse you are
now sitting on.”

“No, it isn’t,” answered Tip, promptly.

“Why not? That one has four legs, and a head, and a tail.” Tip looked
at the saw-horse more carefully, and found that the Pumpkinhead was
right. The body had been formed from a tree-trunk, and a branch had
been left sticking up at one end that looked very much like a tail. In
the other end were two big knots that resembled eyes, and a place had
been chopped away that might easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth.
As for the legs, they were four straight limbs cut from trees and stuck
fast into the body, being spread wide apart so that the saw-horse would
stand firmly when a log was laid across it to be sawed.

“This thing resembles a real horse more than I imagined,” said Tip,
trying to explain. “But a real horse is alive, and trots and prances
and eats oats, while this is nothing more than a dead horse, made of
wood, and used to saw logs upon.”

“If it were alive, wouldn’t it trot, and prance, and eat oats?”
inquired the Pumpkinhead.

“It would trot and prance, perhaps; but it wouldn’t eat oats,” replied
the boy, laughing at the idea. “And of course it can’t ever be alive,
because it is made of wood.”

“So am I,” answered the man.

Tip looked at him in surprise.

“Why, so you are!” he exclaimed. “And the magic powder that brought you
to life is here in my pocket.”

[Illustration: image053]

He brought out the pepper box, and eyed it curiously.

“I wonder,” said he, musingly, “if it would bring the saw-horse to
life.”

“If it would,” returned Jack, calmly for nothing seemed to surprise him
“I could ride on its back, and that would save my joints from wearing
out.”

“I’ll try it!” cried the boy, jumping up. “But I wonder if I can
remember the words old Mombi said, and the way she held her hands up.”

He thought it over for a minute, and as he had watched carefully from
the hedge every motion of the old witch, and listened to her words, he
believed he could repeat exactly what she had said and done.

So he began by sprinkling some of the magic Powder of Life from the
pepper-box upon the body of the saw-horse. Then he lifted his left
hand, with the little finger pointing upward, and said: “Weaugh!”

“What does that mean, dear father?” asked Jack, curiously.

“I don’t know,” answered Tip. Then he lifted his right hand, with the
thumb pointing upward and said: “Teaugh!”

“What’s that, dear father?” inquired Jack.

“It means you must keep quiet!” replied the boy, provoked at being
interrupted at so important a moment.

“How fast I am learning!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with his eternal
smile.

Tip now lifted both hands above his head, with all the fingers and
thumbs spread out, and cried in a loud voice: “Peaugh!”

Immediately the saw-horse moved, stretched its legs, yawned with its
chopped-out mouth, and shook a few grains of the powder off its back.
The rest of the powder seemed to have vanished into the body of the
horse.

“Good!” called Jack, while the boy looked on in astonishment. “You are
a very clever sorcerer, dear father!”

[Illustration: image055]

[Illustration: image056]

[Illustration: image057]




The Awakening of the Saw-horse


The Saw-Horse, finding himself alive, seemed even more astonished than
Tip. He rolled his knotty eyes from side to side, taking a first
wondering view of the world in which he had now so important an
existence. Then he tried to look at himself; but he had, indeed, no
neck to turn; so that in the endeavor to see his body he kept circling
around and around, without catching even a glimpse of it. His legs were
stiff and awkward, for there were no knee-joints in them; so that
presently he bumped against Jack Pumpkinhead and sent that personage
tumbling upon the moss that lined the roadside.

Tip became alarmed at this accident, as well as at the persistence of
the Saw-Horse in prancing around in a circle; so he called out:

“Whoa! Whoa, there!”

The Saw-Horse paid no attention whatever to this command, and the next
instant brought one of his wooden legs down upon Tip’s foot so forcibly
that the boy danced away in pain to a safer distance, from where he
again yelled:

“Whoa! Whoa, I say!”

Jack had now managed to raise himself to a sitting position, and he
looked at the Saw-Horse with much interest.

“I don’t believe the animal can hear you,” he remarked.

“I shout loud enough, don’t I?” answered Tip, angrily.

“Yes; but the horse has no ears,” said the smiling Pumpkinhead.

“Sure enough!” exclaimed Tip, noting the fact for the first time. “How,
then, am I going to stop him?”

But at that instant the Saw-Horse stopped himself, having concluded it
was impossible to see his own body. He saw Tip, however, and came close
to the boy to observe him more fully.

It was really comical to see the creature walk; for it moved the legs
on its right side together, and those on its left side together, as a
pacing horse does; and that made its body rock sidewise, like a cradle.

Tip patted it upon the head, and said “Good boy! Good Boy!” in a
coaxing tone; and the Saw-Horse pranced away to examine with its
bulging eyes the form of Jack Pumpkinhead.

“I must find a halter for him,” said Tip; and having made a search in
his pocket he produced a roll of strong cord. Unwinding this, he
approached the Saw-Horse and tied the cord around its neck, afterward
fastening the other end to a large tree. The Saw-Horse, not
understanding the action, stepped backward and snapped the string
easily; but it made no attempt to run away.

“He’s stronger than I thought,” said the boy, “and rather obstinate,
too.”

“Why don’t you make him some ears?” asked Jack. “Then you can tell him
what to do.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” said Tip. “How did you happen to think of
it?”

“Why, I didn’t think of it,” answered the Pumpkinhead; “I didn’t need
to, for it’s the simplest and easiest thing to do.”

So Tip got out his knife and fashioned some ears out of the bark of a
small tree.

“I mustn’t make them too big,” he said, as he whittled, “or our horse
would become a donkey.”

“How is that?” inquired Jack, from the roadside.

“Why, a horse has bigger ears than a man; and a donkey has bigger ears
than a horse,” explained Tip.

“Then, if my ears were longer, would I be a horse?” asked Jack.

“My friend,” said Tip, gravely, “you’ll never be anything but a
Pumpkinhead, no matter how big your ears are.”

“Oh,” returned Jack, nodding; “I think I understand.”

“If you do, you’re a wonder,” remarked the boy “but there’s no harm in
_thinking_ you understand. I guess these ears are ready now. Will you
hold the horse while I stick them on?”

“Certainly, if you’ll help me up,” said Jack.

So Tip raised him to his feet, and the Pumpkinhead went to the horse
and held its head while the boy bored two holes in it with his
knife-blade and inserted the ears.

“They make him look very handsome,” said Jack, admiringly.

But those words, spoken close to the Saw-Horse, and being the first
sounds he had ever heard, so startled the animal that he made a bound
forward and tumbled Tip on one side and Jack on the other. Then he
continued to rush forward as if frightened by the clatter of his own
foot-steps.

“Whoa!” shouted Tip, picking himself up; “whoa! you idiot whoa!” The
Saw-Horse would probably have paid no attention to this, but just then
it stepped a leg into a gopher-hole and stumbled head-over-heels to the
ground, where it lay upon its back, frantically waving its four legs in
the air.

Tip ran up to it.

“You’re a nice sort of a horse, I must say!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t
you stop when I yelled ‘whoa?’”

“Does ‘whoa’ mean to stop?” asked the Saw-Horse, in a surprised voice,
as it rolled its eyes upward to look at the boy.

“Of course it does,” answered Tip.

“And a hole in the ground means to stop, also, doesn’t it?” continued
the horse.

“To be sure; unless you step over it,” said Tip.

“What a strange place this is,” the creature exclaimed, as if amazed.
“What am I doing here, anyway?”

“Why, I’ve brought you to life,” answered the boy “but it won’t hurt
you any, if you mind me and do as I tell you.”

“Then I will do as you tell me,” replied the Saw-Horse, humbly. “But
what happened to me, a moment ago? I don’t seem to be just right,
someway.”

[Illustration: image062]

“You’re upside down,” explained Tip. “But just keep those legs still a
minute and I’ll set you right side up again.”

“How many sides have I?” asked the creature, wonderingly.

“Several,” said Tip, briefly. “But do keep those legs still.”

The Saw-Horse now became quiet, and held its legs rigid; so that Tip,
after several efforts, was able to roll him over and set him upright.

“Ah, I seem all right now,” said the queer animal, with a sigh.

“One of your ears is broken,” Tip announced, after a careful
examination. “I’ll have to make a new one.”

Then he led the Saw-Horse back to where Jack was vainly struggling to
regain his feet, and after assisting the Pumpkinhead to stand upright
Tip whittled out a new ear and fastened it to the horse’s head.

“Now,” said he, addressing his steed, “pay attention to what I’m going
to tell you. ‘Whoa!’ means to stop; ‘Get-Up!’ means to walk forward;
‘Trot!’ means to go as fast as you can. Understand?”

“I believe I do,” returned the horse.

“Very good. We are all going on a journey to the Emerald City, to see
His Majesty, the Scarecrow; and Jack Pumpkinhead is going to ride on
your back, so he won’t wear out his joints.”

“I don’t mind,” said the Saw-Horse. “Anything that suits you suits me.”

Then Tip assisted Jack to get upon the horse.

“Hold on tight,” he cautioned, “or you may fall off and crack your
pumpkin head.”

“That would be horrible!” said Jack, with a shudder. “What shall I hold
on to?”

“Why, hold on to his ears,” replied Tip, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Don’t do that!” remonstrated the Saw-Horse; “for then I can’t hear.”

That seemed reasonable, so Tip tried to think of something else.

“I’ll fix it!” said he, at length. He went into the wood and cut a
short length of limb from a young, stout tree. One end of this he
sharpened to a point, and then he dug a hole in the back of the
Saw-Horse, just behind its head. Next he brought a piece of rock from
the road and hammered the post firmly into the animal’s back.

“Stop! Stop!” shouted the horse; “you’re jarring me terribly.”

[Illustration: image065]

“Does it hurt?” asked the boy.

“Not exactly hurt,” answered the animal; “but it makes me quite nervous
to be jarred.”

“Well, it’s all over now” said Tip, encouragingly. “Now, Jack, be sure
to hold fast to this post and then you can’t fall off and get smashed.”

So Jack held on tight, and Tip said to the horse:

“Get up.”

The obedient creature at once walked forward, rocking from side to side
as he raised his feet from the ground.

Tip walked beside the Saw-Horse, quite content with this addition to
their party. Presently he began to whistle.

“What does that sound mean?” asked the horse.

“Don’t pay any attention to it,” said Tip. “I’m just whistling, and
that only means I’m pretty well satisfied.”

“I’d whistle myself, if I could push my lips together,” remarked Jack.
“I fear, dear father, that in some respects I am sadly lacking.”

[Illustration: image067]

After journeying on for some distance the narrow path they were
following turned into a broad roadway, paved with yellow brick. By the
side of the road Tip noticed a sign-post that read:

“NINE MILES TO THE EMERALD CITY.”

But it was now growing dark, so he decided to camp for the night by the
roadside and to resume the journey next morning by daybreak. He led the
Saw-Horse to a grassy mound upon which grew several bushy trees, and
carefully assisted the Pumpkinhead to alight.

“I think I’ll lay you upon the ground, overnight,” said the boy. “You
will be safer that way.”

“How about me?” asked the Saw-Horse.

“It won’t hurt you to stand,” replied Tip; “and, as you can’t sleep,
you may as well watch out and see that no one comes near to disturb
us.”

Then the boy stretched himself upon the grass beside the Pumpkinhead,
and being greatly wearied by the journey was soon fast asleep.

[Illustration: image069]

[Illustration: image070]

[Illustration: image071]




Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride to the Emerald City


At daybreak Tip was awakened by the Pumpkinhead. He rubbed the sleep
from his eyes, bathed in a little brook, and then ate a portion of his
bread and cheese. Having thus prepared for a new day the boy said:

“Let us start at once. Nine miles is quite a distance, but we ought to
reach the Emerald City by noon if no accidents happen.” So the
Pumpkinhead was again perched upon the back of the Saw-Horse and the
journey was resumed.

Tip noticed that the purple tint of the grass and trees had now faded
to a dull lavender, and before long this lavender appeared to take on a
greenish tinge that gradually brightened as they drew nearer to the
great City where the Scarecrow ruled.

The little party had traveled but a short two miles upon their way when
the road of yellow brick was parted by a broad and swift river. Tip was
puzzled how to cross over; but after a time he discovered a man in a
ferry-boat approaching from the other side of the stream.

When the man reached the bank Tip asked:

“Will you row us to the other side?”

“Yes, if you have money,” returned the ferryman, whose face looked
cross and disagreeable.

“But I have no money,” said Tip.

“None at all?” inquired the man.

“None at all,” answered the boy.

“Then I’ll not break my back rowing you over,” said the ferryman,
decidedly.

“What a nice man!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, smilingly.

The ferryman stared at him, but made no reply. Tip was trying to think,
for it was a great disappointment to him to find his journey so
suddenly brought to an end.

“I must certainly get to the Emerald City,” he said to the boatman;
“but how can I cross the river if you do not take me?”

The man laughed, and it was not a nice laugh.

“That wooden horse will float,” said he; “and you can ride him across.
As for the pumpkinheaded loon who accompanies you, let him sink or swim
it won’t matter greatly which.”

[Illustration: image073]

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jack, smiling pleasantly upon the crabbed
ferryman; “I’m sure I ought to float beautifully.”

Tip thought the experiment was worth making, and the Saw-Horse, who did
not know what danger meant, offered no objections whatever. So the boy
led it down into the water and climbed upon its back. Jack also waded
in up to his knees and grasped the tail of the horse so that he might
keep his pumpkin head above the water.

“Now,” said Tip, instructing the Saw-Horse, “if you wiggle your legs
you will probably swim; and if you swim we shall probably reach the
other side.”

The Saw-Horse at once began to wiggle its legs, which acted as oars and
moved the adventurers slowly across the river to the opposite side. So
successful was the trip that presently they were climbing, wet and
dripping, up the grassy bank.

Tip’s trouser-legs and shoes were thoroughly soaked; but the Saw-Horse
had floated so perfectly that from his knees up the boy was entirely
dry. As for the Pumpkinhead, every stitch of his gorgeous clothing
dripped water.

“The sun will soon dry us,” said Tip “and, anyhow, we are now safely
across, in spite of the ferryman, and can continue our journey.”

“I didn’t mind swimming, at all,” remarked the horse.

“Nor did I,” added Jack.

They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a
continuation of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip
once more mounted the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Saw-Horse.

“If you ride fast,” said he, “the wind will help to dry your clothing.
I will hold on to the horse’s tail and run after you. In this way we
all will become dry in a very short time.”

“Then the horse must step lively,” said Jack.

“I’ll do my best,” returned the Saw-Horse, cheerfully.

Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the Saw-Horse,
and called loudly: “Get-up!”

The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he
decided they could go faster, so he shouted: “Trot!”

[Illustration: image075]

Now, the Saw-Horse remembered that this word was the command to go as
fast as he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous
pace, and Tip had hard work—running faster than he ever had before in
his life—to keep his feet.

Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call “Whoa!” to
the horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then
the end of the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead
branch, suddenly broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in
the dust of the road, while the horse and its pumpkin-headed rider
dashed on and quickly disappeared in the distance.

By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his
throat so he could say “Whoa!” there was no further need of saying it,
for the horse was long since out of sight.

So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a
good rest, and afterward began walking along the road.

“Some time I will surely overtake them,” he reflected; “for the road
will end at the gates of the Emerald City, and they can go no further
than that.”

Meantime Jack was holding fast to the post and the Saw-Horse was
tearing along the road like a racer. Neither of them knew Tip was left
behind, for the Pumpkinhead did not look around and the Saw-Horse
couldn’t.

As he rode, Jack noticed that the grass and trees had become a bright
emerald-green in color, so he guessed they were nearing the Emerald
City even before the tall spires and domes came into sight.

At length a high wall of green stone, studded thick with emeralds,
loomed up before them; and fearing the Saw-Horse would not know enough
to stop and so might smash them both against this wall, Jack ventured
to cry “Whoa!” as loud as he could.

So suddenly did the horse obey that had it not been for his post Jack
would have been pitched off head foremost, and his beautiful face
ruined.

“That was a fast ride, dear father!” he exclaimed; and then, hearing no
reply, he turned around and discovered for the first time that Tip was
not there.

This apparent desertion puzzled the Pumpkinhead, and made him uneasy.
And while he was wondering what had become of the boy, and what he
ought to do next under such trying circumstances, the gateway in the
green wall opened and a man came out.

This man was short and round, with a fat face that seemed remarkably
good-natured. He was clothed all in green and wore a high, peaked green
hat upon his head and green spectacles over his eyes. Bowing before the
Pumpkinhead he said:

“I am the Guardian of the Gates of the Emerald City. May I inquire who
you are, and what is your business?”

“My name is Jack Pumpkinhead,” returned the other, smilingly; “but as
to my business, I haven’t the least idea in the world what it is.”

The Guardian of the Gates looked surprised, and shook his head as if
dissatisfied with the reply.

“What are you, a man or a pumpkin?” he asked, politely.

“Both, if you please,” answered Jack.

“And this wooden horse—is it alive?” questioned the Guardian.

The horse rolled one knotty eye upward and winked at Jack. Then it gave
a prance and brought one leg down on the Guardian’s toes.

“Ouch!” cried the man; “I’m sorry I asked that question. But the answer
is most convincing. Have you any errand, sir, in the Emerald City?”

“It seems to me that I have,” replied the Pumpkinhead, seriously; “but
I cannot think what it is. My father knows all about it, but he is not
here.”

“This is a strange affair very strange!” declared the Guardian. “But
you seem harmless. Folks do not smile so delightfully when they mean
mischief.”

“As for that,” said Jack, “I cannot help my smile, for it is carved on
my face with a jack-knife.”

“Well, come with me into my room,” resumed the Guardian, “and I will
see what can be done for you.”

So Jack rode the Saw-Horse through the gateway into a little room built
into the wall. The Guardian pulled a bell-cord, and presently a very
tall soldier—clothed in a green uniform—entered from the opposite door.
This soldier carried a long green gun over his shoulder and had lovely
green whiskers that fell quite to his knees. The Guardian at once
addressed him, saying:

“Here is a strange gentleman who doesn’t know why he has come to the
Emerald City, or what he wants. Tell me, what shall we do with him?”

The Soldier with the Green Whiskers looked at Jack with much care and
curiosity. Finally he shook his head so positively that little waves
rippled down his whiskers, and then he said:

“I must take him to His Majesty, the Scarecrow.”

“But what will His Majesty, the Scarecrow, do with him?” asked the
Guardian of the Gates.

“That is His Majesty’s business,” returned the soldier. “I have
troubles enough of my own. All outside troubles must be turned over to
His Majesty. So put the spectacles on this fellow, and I’ll take him to
the royal palace.”

So the Guardian opened a big box of spectacles and tried to fit a pair
to Jack’s great round eyes.

“I haven’t a pair in stock that will really cover those eyes up,” said
the little man, with a sigh; “and your head is so big that I shall be
obliged to tie the spectacles on.”

“But why need I wear spectacles?” asked Jack.

[Illustration: image081]

“It’s the fashion here,” said the Soldier, “and they will keep you from
being blinded by the glitter and glare of the gorgeous Emerald City.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “Tie them on, by all means. I don’t wish to be
blinded.”

“Nor I!” broke in the Saw-Horse; so a pair of green spectacles was
quickly fastened over the bulging knots that served it for eyes.

Then the Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them through the inner
gate and they at once found themselves in the main street of the
magnificent Emerald City.

Sparkling green gems ornamented the fronts of the beautiful houses and
the towers and turrets were all faced with emeralds. Even the green
marble pavement glittered with precious stones, and it was indeed a
grand and marvelous sight to one who beheld it for the first time.

However, the Pumpkinhead and the Saw-Horse, knowing nothing of wealth
and beauty, paid little attention to the wonderful sights they saw
through their green spectacles. They calmly followed after the green
soldier and scarcely noticed the crowds of green people who stared at
them in surprise. When a green dog ran out and barked at them the
Saw-Horse promptly kicked at it with its wooden leg and sent the little
animal howling into one of the houses; but nothing more serious than
this happened to interrupt their progress to the royal palace.

The Pumpkinhead wanted to ride up the green marble steps and straight
into the Scarecrow’s presence; but the soldier would not permit that.
So Jack dismounted, with much difficulty, and a servant led the
Saw-Horse around to the rear while the Soldier with the Green Whiskers
escorted the Pumpkinhead into the palace, by the front entrance.

The stranger was left in a handsomely furnished waiting room while the
soldier went to announce him. It so happened that at this hour His
Majesty was at leisure and greatly bored for want of something to do,
so he ordered his visitor to be shown at once into his throne room.

Jack felt no fear or embarrassment at meeting the ruler of this
magnificent city, for he was entirely ignorant of all worldly customs.
But when he entered the room and saw for the first time His Majesty the
Scarecrow seated upon his glittering throne, he stopped short in
amazement.

[Illustration: image084]

[Illustration: image085]




His Majesty the Scarecrow


I suppose every reader of this book knows what a scarecrow is; but Jack
Pumpkinhead, never having seen such a creation, was more surprised at
meeting the remarkable King of the Emerald City than by any other one
experience of his brief life.

His Majesty the Scarecrow was dressed in a suit of faded blue clothes,
and his head was merely a small sack stuffed with straw, upon which
eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth had been rudely painted to represent a
face. The clothes were also stuffed with straw, and that so unevenly or
carelessly that his Majesty’s legs and arms seemed more bumpy than was
necessary. Upon his hands were gloves with long fingers, and these were
padded with cotton. Wisps of straw stuck out from the monarch’s coat
and also from his neck and boot-tops. Upon his head he wore a heavy
golden crown set thick with sparkling jewels, and the weight of this
crown caused his brow to sag in wrinkles, giving a thoughtful
expression to the painted face. Indeed, the crown alone betokened
majesty; in all else the, Scarecrow King was but a simple
scarecrow—flimsy, awkward, and unsubstantial.

But if the strange appearance of his Majesty the Scarecrow seemed
startling to Jack, no less wonderful was the form of the Pumpkinhead to
the Scarecrow. The purple trousers and pink waistcoat and red shirt
hung loosely over the wooden joints Tip had manufactured, and the
carved face on the pumpkin grinned perpetually, as if its wearer
considered life the jolliest thing imaginable.

At first, indeed, His Majesty thought his queer visitor was laughing at
him, and was inclined to resent such a liberty; but it was not without
reason that the Scarecrow had attained the reputation of being the
wisest personage in the Land of Oz. He made a more careful examination
of his visitor, and soon discovered that Jack’s features were carved
into a smile and that he could not look grave if he wished to.

[Illustration: image087]

The King was the first to speak. After regarding Jack for some minutes
he said, in a tone of wonder:

“Where on earth did you come from, and how do you happen to be alive?”

“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” returned the Pumpkinhead; “but I do not
understand you.”

“What don’t you understand?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Why, I don’t understand your language. You see, I came from the
Country of the Gillikins, so that I am a foreigner.”

“Ah, to be sure!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “I myself speak the language
of the Munchkins, which is also the language of the Emerald City. But
you, I suppose, speak the language of the Pumpkinheads?”

“Exactly so, your Majesty” replied the other, bowing; “so it will be
impossible for us to understand one another.”

“That is unfortunate, certainly,” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “We
must have an interpreter.”

“What is an interpreter?” asked Jack.

“A person who understands both my language and your own. When I say
anything, the interpreter can tell you what I mean; and when you say
anything the interpreter can tell me what _you_ mean. For the
interpreter can speak both languages as well as understand them.”

“That is certainly clever,” said Jack, greatly pleased at finding so
simple a way out of the difficulty.

So the Scarecrow commanded the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to
search among his people until he found one who understood the language
of the Gillikins as well as the language of the Emerald City, and to
bring that person to him at once.

When the Soldier had departed the Scarecrow said:

“Won’t you take a chair while we are waiting?”

[Illustration: image090]

“Your Majesty forgets that I cannot understand you,” replied the
Pumpkinhead. “If you wish me to sit down you must make a sign for me to
do so.” The Scarecrow came down from his throne and rolled an armchair
to a position behind the Pumpkinhead. Then he gave Jack a sudden push
that sent him sprawling upon the cushions in so awkward a fashion that
he doubled up like a jackknife, and had hard work to untangle himself.

“Did you understand that sign?” asked His Majesty, politely.

“Perfectly,” declared Jack, reaching up his arms to turn his head to
the front, the pumpkin having twisted around upon the stick that
supported it.

“You seem hastily made,” remarked the Scarecrow, watching Jack’s
efforts to straighten himself.

“Not more so than your Majesty,” was the frank reply.

“There is this difference between us,” said the Scarecrow, “that
whereas I will bend, but not break, you will break, but not bend.”

At this moment the soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand.
She seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful
green eyes and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees,
showing silk stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin
slippers with bunches of lettuce for decorations instead of bows or
buckles. Upon her silken waist clover leaves were embroidered, and she
wore a jaunty little jacket trimmed with sparkling emeralds of a
uniform size.

“Why, it’s little Jellia Jamb!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as the green
maiden bowed her pretty head before him. “Do you understand the
language of the Gillikins, my dear?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she answered, “for I was born in the North
Country.”

“Then you shall be our interpreter,” said the Scarecrow, “and explain
to this Pumpkinhead all that I say, and also explain to me all that
_he_ says. Is this arrangement satisfactory?” he asked, turning toward
his guest.

“Very satisfactory indeed,” was the reply.

“Then ask him, to begin with,” resumed the Scarecrow, turning to
Jellia, “what brought him to the Emerald City”

But instead of this the girl, who had been staring at Jack, said to
him:

“You are certainly a wonderful creature. Who made you?”

“A boy named Tip,” answered Jack.

“What does he say?” inquired the Scarecrow. “My ears must have deceived
me. What did he say?”

“He says that your Majesty’s brains seem to have come loose,” replied
the girl, demurely.

The Scarecrow moved uneasily upon his throne, and felt of his head with
his left hand.

“What a fine thing it is to understand two different languages,” he
said, with a perplexed sigh. “Ask him, my dear, if he has any objection
to being put in jail for insulting the ruler of the Emerald City.”

“I didn’t insult you!” protested Jack, indignantly.

“Tut—tut!” cautioned the Scarecrow “wait, until Jellia translates my
speech. What have we got an interpreter for, if you break out in this
rash way?”

“All right, I’ll wait,” replied the Pumpkinhead, in a surly
tone—although his face smiled as genially as ever. “Translate the
speech, young woman.”

“His Majesty inquires if you are hungry,” said Jellia.

“Oh, not at all!” answered Jack, more pleasantly, “for it is impossible
for me to eat.”

“It’s the same way with me,” remarked the Scarecrow. “What did he say,
Jellia, my dear?”

“He asked if you were aware that one of your eyes is painted larger
than the other,” said the girl, mischievously.

[Illustration: image093]

“Don’t you believe her, your Majesty,” cried Jack.

“Oh, I don’t,” answered the Scarecrow, calmly. Then, casting a sharp
look at the girl, he asked:

“Are you quite certain you understand the languages of both the
Gillikins and the Munchkins?”

“Quite certain, your Majesty,” said Jellia Jamb, trying hard not to
laugh in the face of royalty.

“Then how is it that I seem to understand them myself?” inquired the
Scarecrow.

“Because they are one and the same!” declared the girl, now laughing
merrily. “Does not your Majesty know that in all the land of Oz but one
language is spoken?”

“Is it indeed so?” cried the Scarecrow, much relieved to hear this;
“then I might easily have been my own interpreter!”

“It was all my fault, your Majesty,” said Jack, looking rather foolish,
“I thought we must surely speak different languages, since we came from
different countries.”

“This should be a warning to you never to think,” returned the
Scarecrow, severely. “For unless one can think wisely it is better to
remain a dummy—which you most certainly are.”

“I am!—I surely am!” agreed the Pumpkinhead.

“It seems to me,” continued the Scarecrow, more mildly, “that your
manufacturer spoiled some good pies to create an indifferent man.”

“I assure your Majesty that I did not ask to be created,” answered
Jack.

“Ah! It was the same in my case,” said the King, pleasantly. “And so,
as we differ from all ordinary people, let us become friends.”

“With all my heart!” exclaimed Jack.

“What! Have you a heart?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised.

“No; that was only imaginative—I might say, a figure of speech,” said
the other.

“Well, your most prominent figure seems to be a figure of wood; so I
must beg you to restrain an imagination which, having no brains, you
have no right to exercise,” suggested the Scarecrow, warningly.

“To be sure!” said Jack, without in the least comprehending.

His Majesty then dismissed Jellia Jamb and the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, and when they were gone he took his new friend by the arm and
led him into the courtyard to play a game of quoits.

[Illustration: image097]

[Illustration: image098]

[Illustration: image099]




Gen. Jinjur’s Army of Revolt


Tip was so anxious to rejoin his man Jack and the Saw-Horse that he
walked a full half the distance to the Emerald City without stopping to
rest. Then he discovered that he was hungry and the crackers and cheese
he had provided for the Journey had all been eaten.

While wondering what he should do in this emergency he came upon a girl
sitting by the roadside. She wore a costume that struck the boy as
being remarkably brilliant: her silken waist being of emerald green and
her skirt of four distinct colors—blue in front, yellow at the left
side, red at the back and purple at the right side. Fastening the waist
in front were four buttons—the top one blue, the next yellow, a third
red and the last purple.

[Illustration: image100]

The splendor of this dress was almost barbaric; so Tip was fully
justified in staring at the gown for some moments before his eyes were
attracted by the pretty face above it. Yes, the face was pretty enough,
he decided; but it wore an expression of discontent coupled to a shade
of defiance or audacity.

While the boy stared the girl looked upon him calmly. A lunch basket
stood beside her, and she held a dainty sandwich in one hand and a
hard-boiled egg in the other, eating with an evident appetite that
aroused Tip’s sympathy.

He was just about to ask a share of the luncheon when the girl stood up
and brushed the crumbs from her lap.

“There!” said she; “it is time for me to go. Carry that basket for me
and help yourself to its contents if you are hungry.”

Tip seized the basket eagerly and began to eat, following for a time
the strange girl without bothering to ask questions. She walked along
before him with swift strides, and there was about her an air of
decision and importance that led him to suspect she was some great
personage.

Finally, when he had satisfied his hunger, he ran up beside her and
tried to keep pace with her swift footsteps—a very difficult feat, for
she was much taller than he, and evidently in a hurry.

“Thank you very much for the sandwiches,” said Tip, as he trotted
along. “May I ask your name?”

“I am General Jinjur,” was the brief reply.

“Oh!” said the boy surprised. “What sort of a General?”

“I command the Army of Revolt in this war,” answered the General, with
unnecessary sharpness.

“Oh!” he again exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was a war.”

“You were not supposed to know it,” she returned, “for we have kept it
a secret; and considering that our army is composed entirely of girls,”
she added, with some pride, “it is surely a remarkable thing that our
Revolt is not yet discovered.”

“It is, indeed,” acknowledged Tip. “But where is your army?”

“About a mile from here,” said General Jinjur. “The forces have
assembled from all parts of the Land of Oz, at my express command. For
this is the day we are to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow, and wrest
from him the throne. The Army of Revolt only awaits my coming to march
upon the Emerald City.”

“Well!” declared Tip, drawing a long breath, “this is certainly a
surprising thing! May I ask why you wish to conquer His Majesty the
Scarecrow?”

“Because the Emerald City has been ruled by men long enough, for one
reason,” said the girl.

“Moreover, the City glitters with beautiful gems, which might far
better be used for rings, bracelets and necklaces; and there is enough
money in the King’s treasury to buy every girl in our Army a dozen new
gowns. So we intend to conquer the City and run the government to suit
ourselves.”

Jinjur spoke these words with an eagerness and decision that proved she
was in earnest.

“But war is a terrible thing,” said Tip, thoughtfully.

“This war will be pleasant,” replied the girl, cheerfully.

“Many of you will be slain!” continued the boy, in an awed voice.

“Oh, no”, said Jinjur. “What man would oppose a girl, or dare to harm
her? And there is not an ugly face in my entire Army.”

Tip laughed.

“Perhaps you are right,” said he. “But the Guardian of the Gate is
considered a faithful Guardian, and the King’s Army will not let the
City be conquered without a struggle.”

“The Army is old and feeble,” replied General Jinjur, scornfully. “His
strength has all been used to grow whiskers, and his wife has such a
temper that she has already pulled more than half of them out by the
roots. When the Wonderful Wizard reigned the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers was a very good Royal Army, for people feared the Wizard. But
no one is afraid of the Scarecrow, so his Royal Army don’t count for
much in time of war.”

After this conversation they proceeded some distance in silence, and
before long reached a large clearing in the forest where fully four
hundred young women were assembled. These were laughing and talking
together as gaily as if they had gathered for a picnic instead of a war
of conquest.

They were divided into four companies, and Tip noticed that all were
dressed in costumes similar to that worn by General Jinjur. The only
real difference was that while those girls from the Munchkin country
had the blue strip in front of their skirts, those from the country of
the Quadlings had the red strip in front; and those from the country of
the Winkies had the yellow strip in front, and the Gillikin girls wore
the purple strip in front. All had green waists, representing the
Emerald City they intended to conquer, and the top button on each waist
indicated by its color which country the wearer came from. The uniforms
were Jaunty and becoming, and quite effective when massed together.

Tip thought this strange Army bore no weapons whatever; but in this he
was wrong. For each girl had stuck through the knot of her back hair
two long, glittering knitting-needles.

General Jinjur immediately mounted the stump of a tree and addressed
her army.

“Friends, fellow-citizens, and girls!” she said; “we are about to begin
our great Revolt against the men of Oz! We march to conquer the Emerald
City—to dethrone the Scarecrow King—to acquire thousands of gorgeous
gems—to rifle the royal treasury—and to obtain power over our former
oppressors!”

[Illustration: image105]

[Illustration: image106]

“Hurrah!” said those who had listened; but Tip thought most of the Army
was too much engaged in chattering to pay attention to the words of the
General.

The command to march was now given, and the girls formed themselves
into four bands, or companies, and set off with eager strides toward
the Emerald City.

[Illustration: image107]

The boy followed after them, carrying several baskets and wraps and
packages which various members of the Army of Revolt had placed in his
care. It was not long before they came to the green granite walls of
the City and halted before the gateway.

The Guardian of the Gate at once came out and looked at them curiously,
as if a circus had come to town. He carried a bunch of keys swung round
his neck by a golden chain; his hands were thrust carelessly into his
pockets, and he seemed to have no idea at all that the City was
threatened by rebels. Speaking pleasantly to the girls, he said:

“Good morning, my dears! What can I do for you?”

“Surrender instantly!” answered General Jinjur, standing before him and
frowning as terribly as her pretty face would allow her to.

“Surrender!” echoed the man, astounded. “Why, it’s impossible. It’s
against the law! I never heard of such a thing in my life.”

“Still, you must surrender!” exclaimed the General, fiercely. “We are
revolting!”

“You don’t look it,” said the Guardian, gazing from one to another,
admiringly.

“But we are!” cried Jinjur, stamping her foot, impatiently; “and we
mean to conquer the Emerald City!”

“Good gracious!” returned the surprised Guardian of the Gates; “what a
nonsensical idea! Go home to your mothers, my good girls, and milk the
cows and bake the bread. Don’t you know it’s a dangerous thing to
conquer a city?”

[Illustration: image109]

“We are not afraid!” responded the General; and she looked so
determined that it made the Guardian uneasy.

So he rang the bell for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and the
next minute was sorry he had done so. For immediately he was surrounded
by a crowd of girls who drew the knitting-needles from their hair and
began Jabbing them at the Guardian with the sharp points dangerously
near his fat cheeks and blinking eyes.

The poor man howled loudly for mercy and made no resistance when Jinjur
drew the bunch of keys from around his neck.

Followed by her Army the General now rushed to the gateway, where she
was confronted by the Royal Army of Oz—which was the other name for the
Soldier with the Green Whiskers.

“Halt!” he cried, and pointed his long gun full in the face of the
leader.

Some of the girls screamed and ran back, but General Jinjur bravely
stood her ground and said, reproachfully:

“Why, how now? Would you shoot a poor, defenceless girl?”

“No,” replied the soldier. “for my gun isn’t loaded.”

“Not loaded?”

“No; for fear of accidents. And I’ve forgotten where I hid the powder
and shot to load it with. But if you’ll wait a short time I’ll try to
hunt them up.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Jinjur, cheerfully. Then she turned to
her Army and cried:

“Girls, the gun isn’t loaded!”

“Hooray,” shrieked the rebels, delighted at this good news, and they
proceeded to rush upon the Soldier with the Green Whiskers in such a
crowd that it was a wonder they didn’t stick the knitting-needles into
one another.

But the Royal Army of Oz was too much afraid of women to meet the
onslaught. He simply turned about and ran with all his might through
the gate and toward the royal palace, while General Jinjur and her mob
flocked into the unprotected City.

In this way was the Emerald City captured without a drop of blood being
spilled. The Army of Revolt had become an Army of Conquerors!

[Illustration: image111]

[Illustration: image112]

[Illustration: image113]




The Scarecrow Plans an escape


Tip slipped away from the girls and followed swiftly after the Soldier
with the Green Whiskers. The invading army entered the City more
slowly, for they stopped to dig emeralds out of the walls and
paving-stones with the points of their knitting-needles. So the Soldier
and the boy reached the palace before the news had spread that the City
was conquered.

The Scarecrow and Jack Pumpkinhead were still playing at quoits in the
courtyard when the game was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of the
Royal Army of Oz, who came flying in without his hat or gun, his
clothes in sad disarray and his long beard floating a yard behind him
as he ran.

“Tally one for me,” said the Scarecrow, calmly “What’s wrong, my man?”
he added, addressing the Soldier.

“Oh! your Majesty—your Majesty! The City is conquered!” gasped the
Royal Army, who was all out of breath.

“This is quite sudden,” said the Scarecrow. “But please go and bar all
the doors and windows of the palace, while I show this Pumpkinhead how
to throw a quoit.”

The Soldier hastened to do this, while Tip, who had arrived at his
heels, remained in the courtyard to look at the Scarecrow with
wondering eyes.

His Majesty continued to throw the quoits as coolly as if no danger
threatened his throne, but the Pumpkinhead, having caught sight of Tip,
ambled toward the boy as fast as his wooden legs would go.

“Good afternoon, noble parent!” he cried, delightedly. “I’m glad to see
you are here. That terrible Saw-Horse ran away with me.”

“I suspected it,” said Tip. “Did you get hurt? Are you cracked at all?”

“No, I arrived safely,” answered Jack, “and his Majesty has been very
kind indeed to me.”

At this moment the Soldier with the Green Whiskers returned, and the
Scarecrow asked:

“By the way, who has conquered me?”

“A regiment of girls, gathered from the four corners of the Land of
Oz,” replied the Soldier, still pale with fear.

“But where was my Standing Army at the time?” inquired his Majesty,
looking at the Soldier, gravely.

“Your Standing Army was running,” answered the fellow, honestly; “for
no man could face the terrible weapons of the invaders.”

“Well,” said the Scarecrow, after a moment’s thought, “I don’t mind
much the loss of my throne, for it’s a tiresome job to rule over the
Emerald City. And this crown is so heavy that it makes my head ache.
But I hope the Conquerors have no intention of injuring me, just
because I happen to be the King.”

“I heard them, say” remarked Tip, with some hesitation, “that they
intend to make a rag carpet of your outside and stuff their
sofa-cushions with your inside.”

“Then I am really in danger,” declared his Majesty, positively, “and it
will be wise for me to consider a means to escape.”

[Illustration: image116]

“Where can you go?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.

“Why, to my friend the Tin Woodman, who rules over the Winkies, and
calls himself their Emperor,” was the answer. “I am sure he will
protect me.”

Tip was looking out the window.

“The palace is surrounded by the enemy,” said he. “It is too late to
escape. They would soon tear you to pieces.”

The Scarecrow sighed.

“In an emergency,” he announced, “it is always a good thing to pause
and reflect. Please excuse me while I pause and reflect.”

“But we also are in danger,” said the Pumpkinhead, anxiously. “If any
of these girls understand cooking, my end is not far off!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “they’re too busy to cook, even if
they know how!”

“But should I remain here a prisoner for any length of time,” protested
Jack, “I’m liable to spoil.”

“Ah! then you would not be fit to associate with,” returned the
Scarecrow. “The matter is more serious than I suspected.”

“You,” said the Pumpkinhead, gloomily, “are liable to live for many
years. My life is necessarily short. So I must take advantage of the
few days that remain to me.”

“There, there! Don’t worry,” answered the Scarecrow soothingly; “if
you’ll keep quiet long enough for me to think, I’ll try to find some
way for us all to escape.”

So the others waited in patient silence while the Scarecrow walked to a
corner and stood with his face to the wall for a good five minutes. At
the end of that time he faced them with a more cheerful expression upon
his painted face.

“Where is the Saw-Horse you rode here?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.

“Why, I said he was a jewel, and so your man locked him up in the royal
treasury,” said Jack.

“It was the only place I could think of your Majesty,” added the
Soldier, fearing he had made a blunder.

“It pleases me very much,” said the Scarecrow. “Has the animal been
fed?”

“Oh, yes; I gave him a heaping peck of sawdust.”

“Excellent!” cried the Scarecrow. “Bring the horse here at once.”

The Soldier hastened away, and presently they heard the clattering of
the horse’s wooden legs upon the pavement as he was led into the
courtyard.

His Majesty regarded the steed critically. “He doesn’t seem especially
graceful!” he remarked, musingly. “but I suppose he can run?”

“He can, indeed,” said Tip, gazing upon the Saw-Horse admiringly.

“Then, bearing us upon his back, he must make a dash through the ranks
of the rebels and carry us to my friend the Tin Woodman,” announced the
Scarecrow.

“He can’t carry four!” objected Tip.

“No, but he may be induced to carry three,” said his Majesty. “I shall
therefore leave my Royal Army Behind. For, from the ease with which he
was conquered, I have little confidence in his powers.”

“Still, he can run,” declared Tip, laughing.

“I expected this blow” said the Soldier, sulkily; “but I can bear it. I
shall disguise myself by cutting off my lovely green whiskers. And,
after all, it is no more dangerous to face those reckless girls than to
ride this fiery, untamed wooden horse!”

“Perhaps you are right,” observed his Majesty. “But, for my part, not
being a soldier, I am fond of danger. Now, my boy, you must mount
first. And please sit as close to the horse’s neck as possible.”

Tip climbed quickly to his place, and the Soldier and the Scarecrow
managed to hoist the Pumpkinhead to a seat just behind him. There
remained so little space for the King that he was liable to fall off as
soon as the horse started.

“Fetch a clothesline,” said the King to his Army, “and tie us all
together. Then if one falls off we will all fall off.”

And while the Soldier was gone for the clothesline his Majesty
continued, “it is well for me to be careful, for my very existence is
in danger.”

“I have to be as careful as you do,” said Jack.

“Not exactly,” replied the Scarecrow. “for if anything happened to me,
that would be the end of me. But if anything happened to you, they
could use you for seed.”

The Soldier now returned with a long line and tied all three firmly
together, also lashing them to the body of the Saw-Horse; so there
seemed little danger of their tumbling off.

“Now throw open the gates,” commanded the Scarecrow, “and we will make
a dash to liberty or to death.”

[Illustration: image121]

The courtyard in which they were standing was located in the center of
the great palace, which surrounded it on all sides. But in one place a
passage led to an outer gateway, which the Soldier had barred by order
of his sovereign. It was through this gateway his Majesty proposed to
escape, and the Royal Army now led the Saw-Horse along the passage and
unbarred the gate, which swung backward with a loud crash.

“Now,” said Tip to the horse, “you must save us all. Run as fast as you
can for the gate of the City, and don’t let anything stop you.”

“All right!” answered the Saw-Horse, gruffly, and dashed away so
suddenly that Tip had to gasp for breath and hold firmly to the post he
had driven into the creature’s neck.

Several of the girls, who stood outside guarding the palace, were
knocked over by the Saw-Horse’s mad rush. Others ran screaming out of
the way, and only one or two jabbed their knitting-needles frantically
at the escaping prisoners. Tip got one small prick in his left arm,
which smarted for an hour afterward; but the needles had no effect upon
the Scarecrow or Jack Pumpkinhead, who never even suspected they were
being prodded.

As for the Saw-Horse, he made a wonderful record upsetting a fruit
cart, overturning several meek looking men, and finally bowling over
the new Guardian of the Gate—a fussy little fat woman appointed by
General Jinjur.

Nor did the impetuous charger stop then. Once outside the walls of the
Emerald City he dashed along the road to the West with fast and violent
leaps that shook the breath out of the boy and filled the Scarecrow
with wonder.

Jack had ridden at this mad rate once before, so he devoted every
effort to holding, with both hands, his pumpkin head upon its stick,
enduring meantime the dreadful jolting with the courage of a
philosopher.

“Slow him up! Slow him up!” shouted the Scarecrow. “My straw is all
shaking down into my legs.”

But Tip had no breath to speak, so the Saw-Horse continued his wild
career unchecked and with unabated speed.

Presently they came to the banks of a wide river, and without a pause
the wooden steed gave one final leap and launched them all in mid-air.

A second later they were rolling, splashing and bobbing about in the
water, the horse struggling frantically to find a rest for its feet and
its riders being first plunged beneath the rapid current and then
floating upon the surface like corks.

[Illustration: image123]

[Illustration: image124]

[Illustration: image125]




The Journey to the Tin Woodman


Tip was well soaked and dripping water from every angle of his body.
But he managed to lean forward and shout in the ear of the Saw-Horse:

“Keep still, you fool! Keep still!”

The horse at once ceased struggling and floated calmly upon the
surface, its wooden body being as buoyant as a raft.

“What does that word ‘fool’ mean?” enquired the horse.

“It is a term of reproach,” answered Tip, somewhat ashamed of the
expression. “I only use it when I am angry.”

“Then it pleases me to be able to call you a fool, in return,” said the
horse. “For I did not make the river, nor put it in our way; so only a
term of, reproach is fit for one who becomes angry with me for falling
into the water.”

“That is quite evident,” replied Tip; “so I will acknowledge myself in
the wrong.” Then he called out to the Pumpkinhead: “are you all right,
Jack?”

There was no reply. So the boy called to the King “are you all right,
your majesty?”

The Scarecrow groaned.

“I’m all wrong, somehow,” he said, in a weak voice. “How very wet this
water is!”

Tip was bound so tightly by the cord that he could not turn his head to
look at his companions; so he said to the Saw-Horse:

“Paddle with your legs toward the shore.”

The horse obeyed, and although their progress was slow they finally
reached the opposite river bank at a place where it was low enough to
enable the creature to scramble upon dry land.

With some difficulty the boy managed to get his knife out of his pocket
and cut the cords that bound the riders to one another and to the
wooden horse. He heard the Scarecrow fall to the ground with a mushy
sound, and then he himself quickly dismounted and looked at his friend
Jack.

The wooden body, with its gorgeous clothing, still sat upright upon the
horse’s back; but the pumpkin head was gone, and only the sharpened
stick that served for a neck was visible. As for the Scarecrow, the
straw in his body had shaken down with the jolting and packed itself
into his legs and the lower part of his body—which appeared very plump
and round while his upper half seemed like an empty sack. Upon his head
the Scarecrow still wore the heavy crown, which had been sewed on to
prevent his losing it; but the head was now so damp and limp that the
weight of the gold and jewels sagged forward and crushed the painted
face into a mass of wrinkles that made him look exactly like a Japanese
pug dog.

Tip would have laughed—had he not been so anxious about his man Jack.
But the Scarecrow, however damaged, was all there, while the pumpkin
head that was so necessary to Jack’s existence was missing; so the boy
seized a long pole that fortunately lay near at hand and anxiously
turned again toward the river.

[Illustration: image128]

Far out upon the waters he sighted the golden hue of the pumpkin, which
gently bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves. At that moment
it was quite out of Tip’s reach, but after a time it floated nearer and
still nearer until the boy was able to reach it with his pole and draw
it to the shore. Then he brought it to the top of the bank, carefully
wiped the water from its pumpkin face with his handkerchief, and ran
with it to Jack and replaced the head upon the man’s neck.

“Dear me!” were Jack’s first words. “What a dreadful experience! I
wonder if water is liable to spoil pumpkins?”

Tip did not think a reply was necessary, for he knew that the Scarecrow
also stood in need of his help. So he carefully removed the straw from
the King’s body and legs, and spread it out in the sun to dry. The wet
clothing he hung over the body of the Saw-Horse.

“If water spoils pumpkins,” observed Jack, with a deep sigh, “then my
days are numbered.”

“I’ve never noticed that water spoils pumpkins,” returned Tip; “unless
the water happens to be boiling. If your head isn’t cracked, my friend,
you must be in fairly good condition.”

“Oh, my head isn’t cracked in the least,” declared Jack, more
cheerfully.

“Then don’t worry,” retorted the boy. “Care once killed a cat.”

“Then,” said Jack, seriously, “I am very glad indeed that I am not a
cat.”

The sun was fast drying their clothing, and Tip stirred up his
Majesty’s straw so that the warm rays might absorb the moisture and
make it as crisp and dry as ever. When this had been accomplished he
stuffed the Scarecrow into symmetrical shape and smoothed out his face
so that he wore his usual gay and charming expression.

“Thank you very much,” said the monarch, brightly, as he walked about
and found himself to be well balanced. “There are several distinct
advantages in being a Scarecrow. For if one has friends near at hand to
repair damages, nothing very serious can happen to you.”

“I wonder if hot sunshine is liable to crack pumpkins,” said Jack, with
an anxious ring in his voice.

“Not at all—not at all!” replied the Scarecrow, gaily. “All you need
fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall
quickly part company—but you needn’t look forward to it; we’ll discover
the fact ourselves, and notify you. But come! Let us resume our
journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin Woodman.”

So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the
Pumpkinhead clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around
the wooden form of Jack.

[Illustration: image131]

“Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit,” said Tip to his
steed.

“All right!” responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.

“Aren’t you a little hoarse?” asked the Pumpkinhead politely.

The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward
toward Tip.

“See here,” he growled, “can’t you protect me from insult?”

“To be sure!” answered Tip, soothingly. “I am sure Jack meant no harm.
And it will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good
friends.”

“I’ll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead,” declared the
Saw-Horse, viciously. “he loses his head too easily to suit me.”

There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode
along in silence.

After a while the Scarecrow remarked:

“This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I
once saved Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the
West.”

“Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?” asked Jack, glancing around
fearfully.

“They are all dead, so it doesn’t matter,” replied the Scarecrow. “And
here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch’s Grey Wolves.”

“Who was Nick Chopper?” asked Tip.

“That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman, answered his Majesty.
And here is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew
away with little Dorothy,” he continued, after they had traveled a
little way farther.

“Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?” asked Jack, with a shiver of
fear.

“I do not know; but you have little cause to, worry, for the Winged
Monkeys are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap
that commands their services,” said the Scarecrow, reflectively.

Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought recalling the days of
past adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the
flower-strewn fields and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.

Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night. So Tip
stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.

“I’m tired out,” said the boy, yawning wearily; “and the grass is soft
and cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning.”

“I can’t sleep,” said Jack.

“I never do,” said the Scarecrow.

“I do not even know what sleep is,” said the Saw-Horse.

“Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of
flesh and blood and bone, and gets tired,” suggested the Scarecrow, in
his usual thoughtful manner. “I remember it was the same way with
little Dorothy. We always had to sit through the night while she
slept.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tip, meekly, “but I can’t help it. And I’m dreadfully
hungry, too!”

“Here is a new danger!” remarked Jack, gloomily. “I hope you are not
fond of eating pumpkins.”

“Not unless they’re stewed and made into pies,” answered the boy,
laughing. “So have no fears of me, friend Jack.”

“What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!” said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.

“You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!”
retorted Jack, angrily.

“There!—there!” interrupted the Scarecrow; “don’t let us quarrel. We
all have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be
considerate of one another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has
nothing whatever to eat, let us all remain quiet and allow him to
sleep; for it is said that in sleep a mortal may forget even hunger.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Tip, gratefully. “Your Majesty is fully as good
as you are wise—and that is saying a good deal!”

He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of
the Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.

[Illustration: image135]

[Illustration: image136]

[Illustration: image137]




A Nickel-Plated Emperor


Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and
plucked, with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from
some bushes near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample
breakfast, and afterward the little party resumed its Journey.

After an hour’s ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they
espied the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the
Emperor’s palace rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.

The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:

“How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I
hope that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled
mine!”

“Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?” asked the horse.

“Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over them soon after the Wicked
Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the
world I am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor.”

“I thought that ‘Emperor’ was the title of a person who rules an
empire,” said Tip, “and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom.”

“Don’t mention that to the Tin Woodman!” exclaimed the Scarecrow,
earnestly. “You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as
he has every reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor
rather than King.”

“I’m sure it makes no difference to me,” replied the boy.

The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had
hard work to stick upon its back; so there was little further
conversation until they drew up beside the palace steps.

An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to
assist them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to his personage:

“Show us at once to your master, the Emperor.”

The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way,
and finally answered:

“I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving
this morning.”

“How is that?” enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. “I hope nothing has
happened to him.”

“Oh, no; nothing serious,” returned the man. “But this is his Majesty’s
day for being polished; and just now his august presence is thickly
smeared with putz-pomade.”

“Oh, I see!” cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. “My friend was
ever inclined to be a dandy, and I suppose he is now more proud than
ever of his personal appearance.”

“He is, indeed,” said the man, with a polite bow. “Our mighty Emperor
has lately caused himself to be nickel-plated.”

“Good Gracious!” the Scarecrow exclaimed at hearing this. “If his wit
bears the same polish, how sparkling it must be! But show us in—I’m
sure the Emperor will receive us, even in his present state”

“The Emperor’s state is always magnificent,” said the man. “But I will
venture to tell him of your arrival, and will receive his commands
concerning you.”

So the party followed the servant into a splendid ante-room, and the
Saw-Horse ambled awkwardly after them, having no knowledge that a horse
might be expected to remain outside.

The travelers were at first somewhat awed by their surroundings, and
even the Scarecrow seemed impressed as he examined the rich hangings of
silver cloth caught up into knots and fastened with tiny silver axes.
Upon a handsome center-table stood a large silver oil-can, richly
engraved with scenes from the past adventures of the Tin Woodman,
Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow: the lines of the
engraving being traced upon the silver in yellow gold. On the walls
hung several portraits, that of the Scarecrow seeming to be the most
prominent and carefully executed, while a the large painting of the
famous Wizard of Oz, in act of presenting the Tin Woodman with a heart,
covered almost one entire end of the room.

While the visitors gazed at these things in silent admiration they
suddenly heard a loud voice in the next room exclaim:

“Well! well! well! What a great surprise!”

And then the door burst open and Nick Chopper rushed into their midst
and caught the Scarecrow in a close and loving embrace that creased him
into many folds and wrinkles.

[Illustration: image141]

“My dear old friend! My noble comrade!” cried the Tin Woodman,
joyfully. “how delighted! I am to meet you once again.”

And then he released the Scarecrow and held him at arms’ length while
he surveyed the beloved, painted features.

But, alas! the face of the Scarecrow and many portions of his body bore
great blotches of putz-pomade; for the Tin Woodman, in his eagerness to
welcome his friend, had quite forgotten the condition of his toilet and
had rubbed the thick coating of paste from his own body to that of his
comrade.

“Dear me!” said the Scarecrow dolefully. “What a mess I’m in!”

“Never mind, my friend,” returned the Tin Woodman, “I’ll send you to my
Imperial Laundry, and you’ll come out as good as new.”

“Won’t I be mangled?” asked the Scarecrow.

“No, indeed!” was the reply. “But tell me, how came your Majesty here?
and who are your companions?”

The Scarecrow, with great politeness, introduced Tip and Jack
Pumpkinhead, and the latter personage seemed to interest the Tin
Woodman greatly.

“You are not very substantial, I must admit,” said the Emperor. “but
you are certainly unusual, and therefore worthy to become a member of
our select society.”

[Illustration: image143]

“I thank your Majesty,” said Jack, humbly.

“I hope you are enjoying good health?” continued the Woodman.

“At present, yes;” replied the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh; “but I am in
constant terror of the day when I shall spoil.”

“Nonsense!” said the Emperor—but in a kindly, sympathetic tone. “Do
not, I beg of you, dampen today’s sun with the showers of tomorrow. For
before your head has time to spoil you can have it canned, and in that
way it may be preserved indefinitely.”

Tip, during this conversation, was looking at the Woodman with
undisguised amazement, and noticed that the celebrated Emperor of the
Winkies was composed entirely of pieces of tin, neatly soldered and
riveted together into the form of a man. He rattled and clanked a
little, as he moved, but in the main he seemed to be most cleverly
constructed, and his appearance was only marred by the thick coating of
polishing-paste that covered him from head to foot.

The boy’s intent gaze caused the Tin Woodman to remember that he was
not in the most presentable condition, so he begged his friends to
excuse him while he retired to his private apartment and allowed his
servants to polish him. This was accomplished in a short time, and when
the emperor returned his nickel-plated body shone so magnificently that
the Scarecrow heartily congratulated him on his improved appearance.

“That nickel-plate was, I confess, a happy thought,” said Nick; “and it
was the more necessary because I had become somewhat scratched during
my adventurous experiences. You will observe this engraved star upon my
left breast. It not only indicates where my excellent heart lies, but
covers very neatly the patch made by the Wonderful Wizard when he
placed that valued organ in my breast with his own skillful hands.”

“Is your heart, then, a hand-organ?” asked the Pumpkinhead, curiously.

“By no means,” responded the emperor, with dignity. “It is, I am
convinced, a strictly orthodox heart, although somewhat larger and
warmer than most people possess.”

Then he turned to the Scarecrow and asked:

“Are your subjects happy and contented, my dear friend?”

“I cannot, say” was the reply. “for the girls of Oz have risen in
revolt and driven me out of the emerald City.”

“Great Goodness!” cried the Tin Woodman, “What a calamity! They surely
do not complain of your wise and gracious rule?”

“No; but they say it is a poor rule that don’t work both ways,”
answered the Scarecrow; “and these females are also of the opinion that
men have ruled the land long enough. So they have captured my city,
robbed the treasury of all its jewels, and are running things to suit
themselves.”

“Dear me! What an extraordinary idea!” cried the Emperor, who was both
shocked and surprised.

“And I heard some of them say,” said Tip, “that they intend to march
here and capture the castle and city of the Tin Woodman.”

“Ah! we must not give them time to do that,” said the Emperor, quickly;
“we will go at once and recapture the Emerald City and place the
Scarecrow again upon his throne.”

“I was sure you would help me,” remarked the Scarecrow in a pleased
voice. “How large an army can you assemble?”

“We do not need an army,” replied the Woodman. “We four, with the aid
of my gleaming axe, are enough to strike terror into the hearts of the
rebels.”

“We five,” corrected the Pumpkinhead.

“Five?” repeated the Tin Woodman.

“Yes; the Saw-Horse is brave and fearless,” answered Jack, forgetting
his recent quarrel with the quadruped.

The Tin Woodman looked around him in a puzzled way, for the Saw-Horse
had until now remained quietly standing in a corner, where the Emperor
had not noticed him. Tip immediately called the odd-looking creature to
them, and it approached so awkwardly that it nearly upset the beautiful
center-table and the engraved oil-can.

“I begin to think,” remarked the Tin Woodman as he looked earnestly at
the Saw-Horse, “that wonders will never cease! How came this creature
alive?”

“I did it with a magic powder,” modestly asserted the boy. “and the
Saw-Horse has been very useful to us.”

“He enabled us to escape the rebels,” added the Scarecrow.

“Then we must surely accept him as a comrade,” declared the emperor. “A
live Saw-Horse is a distinct novelty, and should prove an interesting
study. Does he know anything?”

“Well, I cannot claim any great experience in life,” the Saw-Horse
answered for himself. “but I seem to learn very quickly, and often it
occurs to me that I know more than any of those around me.”

“Perhaps you do,” said the emperor; “for experience does not always
mean wisdom. But time is precious just now, so let us quickly make
preparations to start upon our Journey.”

[Illustration: image146]

The emperor called his Lord High Chancellor and instructed him how to
run the kingdom during his absence. Meanwhile the Scarecrow was taken
apart and the painted sack that served him for a head was carefully
laundered and restuffed with the brains originally given him by the
great Wizard. His clothes were also cleaned and pressed by the Imperial
tailors, and his crown polished and again sewed upon his head, for the
Tin Woodman insisted he should not renounce this badge of royalty. The
Scarecrow now presented a very respectable appearance, and although in
no way addicted to vanity he was quite pleased with himself and
strutted a trifle as he walked. While this was being done Tip mended
the wooden limbs of Jack Pumpkinhead and made them stronger than
before, and the Saw-Horse was also inspected to see if he was in good
working order.

Then bright and early the next morning they set out upon the return
Journey to the emerald City, the Tin Woodman bearing upon his shoulder
a gleaming axe and leading the way, while the Pumpkinhead rode upon the
Saw-Horse and Tip and the Scarecrow walked upon either side to make
sure that he didn’t fall off or become damaged.

[Illustration: image149]

[Illustration: image150]

[Illustration: image152]




Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.


Now, General Jinjur—who, you will remember, commanded the Army of
Revolt—was rendered very uneasy by the escape of the Scarecrow from the
Emerald City. She feared, and with good reason, that if his Majesty and
the Tin Woodman Joined forces, it would mean danger to her and her
entire army; for the people of Oz had not yet forgotten the deeds of
these famous heroes, who had passed successfully through so many
startling adventures.

So Jinjur sent post-haste for old Mombi, the witch, and promised her
large rewards if she would come to the assistance of the rebel army.

Mombi was furious at the trick Tip had played upon her as well as at
his escape and the theft of the precious Powder of Life; so she needed
no urging to induce her to travel to the Emerald City to assist Jinjur
in defeating the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who had made Tip one of
their friends.

Mombi had no sooner arrived at the royal palace than she discovered, by
means of her secret magic, that the adventurers were starting upon
their Journey to the Emerald City; so she retired to a small room high
up in a tower and locked herself in while she practised such arts as
she could command to prevent the return of the Scarecrow and his
companions.

That was why the Tin Woodman presently stopped and said:

“Something very curious has happened. I ought to know by heart and
every step of this Journey, yet I fear we have already lost our way.”

“That is quite impossible!” protested the Scarecrow. “Why do you think,
my dear friend, that we have gone astray?”

“Why, here before us is a great field of sunflowers—and I never saw
this field before in all my life.”

At these words they all looked around, only to find that they were
indeed surrounded by a field of tall stalks, every stalk bearing at its
top a gigantic sunflower. And not only were these flowers almost
blinding in their vivid hues of red and gold, but each one whirled
around upon its stalk like a miniature wind-mill, completely dazzling
the vision of the beholders and so mystifying them that they knew not
which way to turn.

“It’s witchcraft!” exclaimed Tip.

While they paused, hesitating and wondering, the Tin Woodman uttered a
cry of impatience and advanced with swinging axe to cut down the stalks
before him. But now the sunflowers suddenly stopped their rapid
whirling, and the travelers plainly saw a girl’s face appear in the
center of each flower. These lovely faces looked upon the astonished
band with mocking smiles, and then burst into a chorus of merry
laughter at the dismay their appearance caused.

“Stop! stop!” cried Tip, seizing the Woodman’s arm; “they’re alive!
they’re girls!”

At that moment the flowers began whirling again, and the faces faded
away and were lost in the rapid revolutions.

The Tin Woodman dropped his axe and sat down upon the ground.

“It would be heartless to chop down those pretty creatures,” said he,
despondently. “and yet I do not know how else we can proceed upon our
way”

“They looked to me strangely like the faces of the Army of Revolt,”
mused the Scarecrow. “But I cannot conceive how the girls could have
followed us here so quickly.”

“I believe it’s magic,” said Tip, positively, “and that someone is
playing a trick upon us. I’ve known old Mombi do things like that
before. Probably it’s nothing more than an illusion, and there are no
sunflowers here at all.”

“Then let us shut our eyes and walk forward,” suggested the Woodman.

“Excuse me,” replied the Scarecrow. “My eyes are not painted to shut.
Because you happen to have tin eyelids, you must not imagine we are all
built in the same way.”

“And the eyes of the Saw-Horse are knot eyes,” said Jack, leaning
forward to examine them.

“Nevertheless, you must ride quickly forward,” commanded Tip, “and we
will follow after you and so try to escape. My eyes are already so
dazzled that I can scarcely see.”

So the Pumpkinhead rode boldly forward, and Tip grasped the stub tail
of the Saw-Horse and followed with closed eyes. The Scarecrow and the
Tin Woodman brought up the rear, and before they had gone many yards a
Joyful shout from Jack announced that the way was clear before them.

Then all paused to look backward, but not a trace of the field of
sunflowers remained.

More cheerfully, now they proceeded upon their Journey; but old Mombi
had so changed the appearance of the landscape that they would surely
have been lost had not the Scarecrow wisely concluded to take their
direction from the sun. For no witch-craft could change the course of
the sun, and it was therefore a safe guide.

However, other difficulties lay before them. The Saw-Horse stepped into
a rabbit hole and fell to the ground. The Pumpkinhead was pitched high
into the air, and his history would probably have ended at that exact
moment had not the Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin as it
descended and saved it from injury.

[Illustration: image156]

Tip soon had it fitted to the neck again and replaced Jack upon his
feet. But the Saw-Horse did not escape so easily. For when his leg was
pulled from the rabbit hole it was found to be broken short off, and
must be replaced or repaired before he could go a step farther.

“This is quite serious,” said the Tin Woodman. “If there were trees
near by I might soon manufacture another leg for this animal; but I
cannot see even a shrub for miles around.”

“And there are neither fences nor houses in this part of the land of
Oz,” added the Scarecrow, disconsolately.

“Then what shall we do?” enquired the boy.

“I suppose I must start my brains working,” replied his Majesty the
Scarecrow; “for experience has, taught me that I can do anything if I
but take time to think it out.”

“Let us all think,” said Tip; “and perhaps we shall find a way to
repair the Saw-Horse.”

[Illustration: image158]

So they sat in a row upon the grass and began to think, while the
Saw-Horse occupied itself by gazing curiously upon its broken limb.

“Does it hurt?” asked the Tin Woodman, in a soft, sympathetic voice.

“Not in the least,” returned the Saw-Horse; “but my pride is injured to
find that my anatomy is so brittle.”

For a time the little group remained in silent thought. Presently the
Tin Woodman raised his head and looked over the fields.

“What sort of creature is that which approaches us?” he asked,
wonderingly.

The others followed his gaze, and discovered coming toward them the
most extraordinary object they had ever beheld. It advanced quickly and
noiselessly over the soft grass and in a few minutes stood before the
adventurers and regarded them with an astonishment equal to their own.

[Illustration: image159]

The Scarecrow was calm under all circumstances.

“Good morning!” he said, politely.

The stranger removed his hat with a flourish, bowed very low, and then
responded:

“Good morning, one and all. I hope you are, as an aggregation, enjoying
excellent health. Permit me to present my card.”

With this courteous speech it extended a card toward the Scarecrow, who
accepted it, turned it over and over, and handed it with a shake of his
head to Tip.

The boy read aloud:

“MR. H. M. WOGGLE-BUG, T. E.”

“Dear me!” ejaculated the Pumpkinhead, staring somewhat intently.

“How very peculiar!” said the Tin Woodman.

Tip’s eyes were round and wondering, and the Saw-Horse uttered a sigh
and turned away its head.

“Are you really a Woggle-Bug?” enquired the Scarecrow.

“Most certainly, my dear sir!” answered the stranger, briskly. “Is not
my name upon the card?”

“It is,” said the Scarecrow. “But may I ask what ‘H. M.’ stands for?”

“‘H. M.’ means Highly Magnified,” returned the Woggle-Bug, proudly.

“Oh, I see.” The Scarecrow viewed the stranger critically. “And are
you, in truth, highly magnified?”

“Sir,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I take you for a gentleman of judgment and
discernment. Does it not occur to you that I am several thousand times
greater than any Woggle-Bug you ever saw before? Therefore it is
plainly evident that I am Highly Magnified, and there is no good reason
why you should doubt the fact.”

“Pardon me,” returned the Scarecrow. “My brains are slightly mixed
since I was last laundered. Would it be improper for me to ask, also,
what the ‘T.E.’ at the end of your name stands for?”

“Those letters express my degree,” answered the Woggle-Bug, with a
condescending smile. “To be more explicit, the initials mean that I am
Thoroughly Educated.”

“Oh!” said the Scarecrow, much relieved.

Tip had not yet taken his eyes off this wonderful personage. What he
saw was a great, round, buglike body supported upon two slender legs
which ended in delicate feet—the toes curling upward. The body of the
Woggle-Bug was rather flat, and judging from what could be seen of it
was of a glistening dark brown color upon the back, while the front was
striped with alternate bands of light brown and white, blending
together at the edges. Its arms were fully as slender as its legs, and
upon a rather long neck was perched its head—not unlike the head of a
man, except that its nose ended in a curling antenna, or “feeler,” and
its ears from the upper points bore antennae that decorated the sides
of its head like two miniature, curling pig tails. It must be admitted
that the round, black eyes were rather bulging in appearance; but the
expression upon the Woggle-Bug’s face was by no means unpleasant.

For dress the insect wore a dark-blue swallowtail coat with a yellow
silk lining and a flower in the button-hole; a vest of white duck that
stretched tightly across the wide body; knickerbockers of fawn-colored
plush, fastened at the knees with gilt buckles; and, perched upon its
small head, was jauntily set a tall silk hat.

Standing upright before our amazed friends the Woggle-Bug appeared to
be fully as tall as the Tin Woodman; and surely no bug in all the Land
of Oz had ever before attained so enormous a size.

“I confess,” said the Scarecrow, “that your abrupt appearance has
caused me surprise, and no doubt has startled my companions. I hope,
however, that this circumstance will not distress you. We shall
probably get used to you in time.”

“Do not apologize, I beg of you!” returned the Woggle-Bug, earnestly.
“It affords me great pleasure to surprise people; for surely I cannot
be classed with ordinary insects and am entitled to both curiosity and
admiration from those I meet.”

“You are, indeed,” agreed his Majesty.

“If you will permit me to seat myself in your august company,”
continued the stranger, “I will gladly relate my history, so that you
will be better able to comprehend my unusual—may I say
remarkable?—appearance.”

“You may say what you please,” answered the Tin Woodman, briefly.

So the Woggle-Bug sat down upon the grass, facing the little group of
wanderers, and told them the following story:

[Illustration: image164]

[Illustration: image165]




A Highly Magnified History


“It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my
recital that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug,” began the creature, in
a frank and friendly tone. “Knowing no better, I used my arms as well
as my legs for walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid
among the roots of grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects
smaller than myself to feed upon.

“The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no
clothing, but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life
and restored me to activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must
remember it is the regular ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well
as of many other tiny creatures that inhabit the earth.

“But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander
fate! One day I crawled near to a country school house, and my
curiosity being excited by the monotonous hum of the students within, I
made bold to enter and creep along a crack between two boards until I
reached the far end, where, in front of a hearth of glowing embers, sat
the master at his desk.

“No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found
that the hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine,
I resolved to establish my future home beside it. So I found a charming
nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many, many months.

“Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land
of Oz, and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and
discourses he gave his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than
the humble, unnoticed Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of
knowledge that I will myself confess is simply marvelous. That is why I
place ‘T.E.’ Thoroughly Educated upon my cards; for my greatest pride
lies in the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with
a tenth part of my own culture and erudition.”

“I do not blame you,” said the Scarecrow. “Education is a thing to be
proud of. I’m educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great
Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled.”

“Nevertheless,” interrupted the Tin Woodman, “a good heart is, I
believe, much more desirable than education or brains.”

“To me,” said the Saw-Horse, “a good leg is more desirable than
either.”

“Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?” enquired the
Pumpkinhead, abruptly.

“Keep quiet!” commanded Tip, sternly.

“Very well, dear father,” answered the obedient Jack.

The Woggle-Bug listened patiently—even respectfully—to these remarks,
and then resumed his story.

“I must have lived fully three years in that secluded school-house
hearth,” said he, “drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of
limpid knowledge before me.”

“Quite poetical,” commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head
approvingly.

“But one, day” continued the Bug, “a marvelous circumstance occurred
that altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of
greatness. The Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across
the hearth, and before I could escape he had caught me between his
thumb and forefinger.

[Illustration: image167]

“‘My dear children,’ said he, ‘I have captured a Woggle-Bug—a very rare
and interesting specimen. Do any of you know what a Woggle-Bug is?’

“‘No!’ yelled the scholars, in chorus.

“‘Then,’ said the Professor, ‘I will get out my famous magnifying-glass
and throw the insect upon a screen in a highly-magnified condition,
that you may all study carefully its peculiar construction and become
acquainted with its habits and manner of life.’

“He then brought from a cupboard a most curious instrument, and before
I could realize what had happened I found myself thrown upon a screen
in a highly-magnified state—even as you now behold me.

[Illustration: image169]

“The students stood up on their stools and craned their heads forward
to get a better view of me, and two little girls jumped upon the sill
of an open window where they could see more plainly.

“‘Behold!’ cried the Professor, in a loud voice, ‘this highly-magnified
Woggle-Bug; one of the most curious insects in existence!’

“Being Thoroughly Educated, and knowing what is required of a cultured
gentleman, at this juncture I stood upright and, placing my hand upon
my bosom, made a very polite bow. My action, being unexpected, must
have startled them, for one of the little girls perched upon the
window-sill gave a scream and fell backward out the window, drawing her
companion with her as she disappeared.

“The Professor uttered a cry of horror and rushed away through the door
to see if the poor children were injured by the fall. The scholars
followed after him in a wild mob, and I was left alone in the
school-room, still in a Highly-Magnified state and free to do as I
pleased.

“It immediately occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to
escape. I was proud of my great size, and realized that now I could
safely travel anywhere in the world, while my superior culture would
make me a fit associate for the most learned person I might chance to
meet.

“So, while the Professor picked the little girls—who were more
frightened than hurt—off the ground, and the pupils clustered around
him closely grouped, I calmly walked out of the school-house, turned a
corner, and escaped unnoticed to a grove of trees that stood near”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, admiringly.

“It was, indeed,” agreed the Woggle-Bug. “I have never ceased to
congratulate myself for escaping while I was Highly Magnified; for even
my excessive knowledge would have proved of little use to me had I
remained a tiny, insignificant insect.”

[Illustration: image171]

“I didn’t know before,” said Tip, looking at the Woggle-Bug with a
puzzled expression, “that insects wore clothes.”

“Nor do they, in their natural state,” returned the stranger. “But in
the course of my wanderings I had the good fortune to save the ninth
life of a tailor—tailors having, like cats, nine lives, as you probably
know. The fellow was exceedingly grateful, for had he lost that ninth
life it would have been the end of him; so he begged permission to
furnish me with the stylish costume I now wear. It fits very nicely,
does it not?” and the Woggle-Bug stood up and turned himself around
slowly, that all might examine his person.

“He must have been a good tailor,” said the Scarecrow, somewhat
enviously.

“He was a good-hearted tailor, at any rate,” observed Nick Chopper.

“But where were you going, when you met us?” Tip asked the Woggle-Bug.

“Nowhere in particular,” was the reply, “although it is my intention
soon to visit the Emerald City and arrange to give a course of lectures
to select audiences on the ‘Advantages of Magnification.’”

“We are bound for the Emerald City now,” said the Tin Woodman; “so, if
it pleases you to do so, you are welcome to travel in our company.”

The Woggle-Bug bowed with profound grace.

“It will give me great pleasure,” said he “to accept your kind
invitation; for nowhere in the Land of Oz could I hope to meet with so
congenial a company.”

“That is true,” acknowledged the Pumpkinhead. “We are quite as
congenial as flies and honey.”

“But—pardon me if I seem inquisitive—are you not all rather—ahem!
rather unusual?” asked the Woggle-Bug, looking from one to another with
unconcealed interest.

“Not more so than yourself,” answered the Scarecrow. “Everything in
life is unusual until you get accustomed to it.”

“What rare philosophy!” exclaimed the Woggle-Bug, admiringly.

“Yes; my brains are working well today,” admitted the Scarecrow, an
accent of pride in his voice.

“Then, if you are sufficiently rested and refreshed, let us bend our
steps toward the Emerald City,” suggested the magnified one.

“We can’t,” said Tip. “The Saw-Horse has broken a leg, so he can’t bend
his steps. And there is no wood around to make him a new limb from. And
we can’t leave the horse behind because the Pumpkinhead is so stiff in
his Joints that he has to ride.”

“How very unfortunate!” cried the Woggle-Bug. Then he looked the party
over carefully and said:

“If the Pumpkinhead is to ride, why not use one of his legs to make a
leg for the horse that carries him? I judge that both are made of
wood.”

“Now, that is what I call real cleverness,” said the Scarecrow,
approvingly. “I wonder my brains did not think of that long ago! Get to
work, my dear Nick, and fit the Pumpkinhead’s leg to the Saw-Horse.”

Jack was not especially pleased with this idea; but he submitted to
having his left leg amputated by the Tin Woodman and whittled down to
fit the left leg of the Saw-Horse. Nor was the Saw-Horse especially
pleased with the operation, either; for he growled a good deal about
being “butchered,” as he called it, and afterward declared that the new
leg was a disgrace to a respectable Saw-Horse.

“I beg you to be more careful in your speech,” said the Pumpkinhead,
sharply. “Remember, if you please, that it is my leg you are abusing.”

“I cannot forget it,” retorted the Saw-Horse, “for it is quite as
flimsy as the rest of your person.”

“Flimsy! me flimsy!” cried Jack, in a rage. “How dare you call me
flimsy?”

“Because you are built as absurdly as a jumping-jack,” sneered the
horse, rolling his knotty eyes in a vicious manner. “Even your head
won’t stay straight, and you never can tell whether you are looking
backwards or forwards!”

“Friends, I entreat you not to quarrel!” pleaded the Tin Woodman,
anxiously. “As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism; so
let us bear with each others’ faults.”

“An excellent suggestion,” said the Woggle-Bug, approvingly. “You must
have an excellent heart, my metallic friend.”

“I have,” returned Nick, well pleased. “My heart is quite the best part
of me. But now let us start upon our Journey.

They perched the one-legged Pumpkinhead upon the Saw-Horse, and tied
him to his seat with cords, so that he could not possibly fall off.

And then, following the lead of the Scarecrow, they all advanced in the
direction of the Emerald City.

[Illustration: image175]

[Illustration: image176]

[Illustration: image177]




Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft


They soon discovered that the Saw-Horse limped, for his new leg was a
trifle too long. So they were obliged to halt while the Tin Woodman
chopped it down with his axe, after which the wooden steed paced along
more comfortably. But the Saw-Horse was not entirely satisfied, even
yet.

“It was a shame that I broke my other leg!” it growled.

“On the contrary,” airily remarked the Woggle-Bug, who was walking
alongside, “you should consider the accident most fortunate. For a
horse is never of much use until he has been broken.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Tip, rather provoked, for he felt a warm
interest in both the Saw-Horse and his man Jack; “but permit me to say
that your joke is a poor one, and as old as it is poor.”

“Still, it is a Joke,” declared the Woggle-Bug; firmly, “and a Joke
derived from a play upon words is considered among educated people to
be eminently proper.”

“What does that mean?” enquired the Pumpkinhead, stupidly.

“It means, my dear friend,” explained the Woggle-Bug, “that our
language contains many words having a double meaning; and that to
pronounce a joke that allows both meanings of a certain word, proves
the joker a person of culture and refinement, who has, moreover, a
thorough command of the language.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Tip, plainly; “anybody can make a pun.”

“Not so,” rejoined the Woggle-Bug, stiffly. “It requires education of a
high order. Are you educated, young sir?”

“Not especially,” admitted Tip.

“Then you cannot judge the matter. I myself am Thoroughly Educated, and
I say that puns display genius. For instance, were I to ride upon this
Saw-Horse, he would not only be an animal he would become an equipage.
For he would then be a horse-and-buggy.”

At this the Scarecrow gave a gasp and the Tin Woodman stopped short and
looked reproachfully at the Woggle-Bug. At the same time the Saw-Horse
loudly snorted his derision; and even the Pumpkinhead put up his hand
to hide the smile which, because it was carved upon his face, he could
not change to a frown.

But the Woggle-Bug strutted along as if he had made some brilliant
remark, and the Scarecrow was obliged to say:

“I have heard, my dear friend, that a person can become over-educated;
and although I have a high respect for brains, no matter how they may
be arranged or classified, I begin to suspect that yours are slightly
tangled. In any event, I must beg you to restrain your superior
education while in our society.”

“We are not very particular,” added the Tin Woodman; “and we are
exceedingly kind hearted. But if your superior culture gets leaky
again—” He did not complete the sentence, but he twirled his gleaming
axe so carelessly that the Woggle-Bug looked frightened, and shrank
away to a safe distance.

The others marched on in silence, and the Highly Magnified one, after a
period of deep thought, said in an humble voice:

“I will endeavor to restrain myself.”

“That is all we can expect,” returned the Scarecrow pleasantly; and
good nature being thus happily restored to the party, they proceeded
upon their way.

When they again stopped to allow Tip to rest—the boy being the only one
that seemed to tire—the Tin Woodman noticed many small, round holes in
the grassy meadow.

“This must be a village of the Field Mice,” he said to the Scarecrow.
“I wonder if my old friend, the Queen of the Mice, is in this
neighborhood.”

“If she is, she may be of great service to us,” answered the Scarecrow,
who was impressed by a sudden thought. “See if you can call her, my
dear Nick.”

So the Tin Woodman blew a shrill note upon a silver whistle that hung
around his neck, and presently a tiny grey mouse popped from a near-by
hole and advanced fearlessly toward them. For the Tin Woodman had once
saved her life, and the Queen of the Field Mice knew he was to be
trusted.

“Good day, your Majesty,” said Nick, politely addressing the mouse; “I
trust you are enjoying good health?”

“Thank you, I am quite well,” answered the Queen, demurely, as she sat
up and displayed the tiny golden crown upon her head. “Can I do
anything to assist my old friends?”

“You can, indeed,” replied the Scarecrow, eagerly. “Let me, I intreat
you, take a dozen of your subjects with me to the Emerald City.”

“Will they be injured in any way?” asked the Queen, doubtfully.

“I think not,” replied the Scarecrow. “I will carry them hidden in the
straw which stuffs my body, and when I give them the signal by
unbuttoning my jacket, they have only to rush out and scamper home
again as fast as they can. By doing this they will assist me to regain
my throne, which the Army of Revolt has taken from me.”

“In that case,” said the Queen, “I will not refuse your request.
Whenever you are ready, I will call twelve of my most intelligent
subjects.”

“I am ready now” returned the Scarecrow. Then he lay flat upon the
ground and unbuttoned his jacket, displaying the mass of straw with
which he was stuffed.

The Queen uttered a little piping call, and in an instant a dozen
pretty field mice had emerged from their holes and stood before their
ruler, awaiting her orders.

[Illustration: image181]

What the Queen said to them none of our travelers could understand, for
it was in the mouse language; but the field mice obeyed without
hesitation, running one after the other to the Scarecrow and hiding
themselves in the straw of his breast.

When all of the twelve mice had thus concealed themselves, the
Scarecrow buttoned his Jacket securely and then arose and thanked the
Queen for her kindness.

“One thing more you might do to serve us,” suggested the Tin Woodman;
“and that is to run ahead and show us the way to the Emerald City. For
some enemy is evidently trying to prevent us from reaching it.”

“I will do that gladly,” returned the Queen. “Are you ready?”

The Tin Woodman looked at Tip.

“I’m rested,” said the boy. “Let us start.”

Then they resumed their journey, the little grey Queen of the Field
Mice running swiftly ahead and then pausing until the travelers drew
near, when away she would dart again.

Without this unerring guide the Scarecrow and his comrades might never
have gained the Emerald City; for many were the obstacles thrown in
their way by the arts of old Mombi. Yet not one of the obstacles really
existed—all were cleverly contrived deceptions. For when they came to
the banks of a rushing river that threatened to bar their way the
little Queen kept steadily on, passing through the seeming flood in
safety; and our travelers followed her without encountering a single
drop of water.

Again, a high wall of granite towered high above their heads and
opposed their advance. But the grey Field Mouse walked straight through
it, and the others did the same, the wall melting into mist as they
passed it.

Afterward, when they had stopped for a moment to allow Tip to rest,
they saw forty roads branching off from their feet in forty different
directions; and soon these forty roads began whirling around like a
mighty wheel, first in one direction and then in the other, completely
bewildering their vision.

But the Queen called for them to follow her and darted off in a
straight line; and when they had gone a few paces the whirling pathways
vanished and were seen no more.

Mombi’s last trick was the most fearful of all. She sent a sheet of
crackling flame rushing over the meadow to consume them; and for the
first time the Scarecrow became afraid and turned to fly.

“If that fire reaches me I will be gone in no time!” said he, trembling
until his straw rattled. “It’s the most dangerous thing I ever
encountered.”

“I’m off, too!” cried the Saw-Horse, turning and prancing with
agitation; “for my wood is so dry it would burn like kindlings.”

“Is fire dangerous to pumpkins?” asked Jack, fearfully.

“You’ll be baked like a tart—and so will I!” answered the Woggle-Bug,
getting down on all fours so he could run the faster.

But the Tin Woodman, having no fear of fire, averted the stampede by a
few sensible words.

“Look at the Field Mouse!” he shouted. “The fire does not burn her in
the least. In fact, it is no fire at all, but only a deception.”

Indeed, to watch the little Queen march calmly through the advancing
flames restored courage to every member of the party, and they followed
her without being even scorched.

“This is surely a most extraordinary adventure,” said the Woggle-Bug,
who was greatly amazed; “for it upsets all the Natural Laws that I
heard Professor Nowitall teach in the school-house.”

“Of course it does,” said the Scarecrow, wisely. “All magic is
unnatural, and for that reason is to be feared and avoided. But I see
before us the gates of the Emerald City, so I imagine we have now
overcome all the magical obstacles that seemed to oppose us.”

Indeed, the walls of the City were plainly visible, and the Queen of
the Field Mice, who had guided them so faithfully, came near to bid
them good-bye.

“We are very grateful to your Majesty for your kind assistance,” said
the Tin Woodman, bowing before the pretty creature.

“I am always pleased to be of service to my friends,” answered the
Queen, and in a flash she had darted away upon her journey home.

[Illustration: image188]

[Illustration: image189]




The Prisoners of the Queen


Approaching the gateway of the Emerald City the travelers found it
guarded by two girls of the Army of Revolt, who opposed their entrance
by drawing the knitting-needles from their hair and threatening to prod
the first that came near.

But the Tin Woodman was not afraid.

“At the worst they can but scratch my beautiful nickel-plate,” he said.
“But there will be no ‘worst,’ for I think I can manage to frighten
these absurd soldiers very easily. Follow me closely, all of you!”

Then, swinging his axe in a great circle to right and left before him,
he advanced upon the gate, and the others followed him without
hesitation.

The girls, who had expected no resistance whatever, were terrified by
the sweep of the glittering axe and fled screaming into the city; so
that our travelers passed the gates in safety and marched down the
green marble pavement of the wide street toward the royal palace.

“At this rate we will soon have your Majesty upon the throne again,”
said the Tin Woodman, laughing at his easy conquest of the guards.

“Thank you, friend Nick,” returned the Scarecrow, gratefully. “Nothing
can resist your kind heart and your sharp axe.”

As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that
men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat
around in groups, gossiping and laughing.

“What has happened?” the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy
beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby-carriage along the
sidewalk.

“Why, we’ve had a revolution, your Majesty as you ought to know very
well,” replied the man; “and since you went away the women have been
running things to suit themselves. I’m glad you have decided to come
back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is
wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.”

“Hm!” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “If it is such hard work as you
say, how did the women manage it so easily?”

“I really do not know” replied the man, with a deep sigh. “Perhaps the
women are made of castiron.”

No movement was made, as they passed along the street, to oppose their
progress. Several of the women stopped their gossip long enough to cast
curious looks upon our friends, but immediately they would turn away
with a laugh or a sneer and resume their chatter. And when they met
with several girls belonging to the Army of Revolt, those soldiers,
instead of being alarmed or appearing surprised, merely stepped out of
the way and allowed them to advance without protest.

This action rendered the Scarecrow uneasy.

“I’m afraid we are walking into a trap,” said he.

“Nonsense!” returned Nick Chopper, confidently; “the silly creatures
are conquered already!”

But the Scarecrow shook his head in a way that expressed doubt, and Tip
said:

[Illustration: image192]

“It’s too easy, altogether. Look out for trouble ahead.”

“I will,” returned his Majesty. Unopposed they reached the royal palace
and marched up the marble steps, which had once been thickly crusted
with emeralds but were now filled with tiny holes where the jewels had
been ruthlessly torn from their settings by the Army of Revolt. And so
far not a rebel barred their way.

Through the arched hallways and into the magnificent throne room
marched the Tin Woodman and his followers, and here, when the green
silken curtains fell behind them, they saw a curious sight.

Seated within the glittering throne was General Jinjur, with the
Scarecrow’s second-best crown upon her head, and the royal sceptre in
her right hand. A box of caramels, from which she was eating, rested in
her lap, and the girl seemed entirely at ease in her royal
surroundings.

The Scarecrow stepped forward and confronted her, while the Tin Woodman
leaned upon his axe and the others formed a half-circle back of his
Majesty’s person.

“How dare you sit in my throne?” demanded the Scarecrow, sternly eyeing
the intruder. “Don’t you know you are guilty of treason, and that there
is a law against treason?”

“The throne belongs to whoever is able to take it,” answered Jinjur, as
she slowly ate another caramel. “I have taken it, as you see; so just
now I am the Queen, and all who oppose me are guilty of treason, and
must be punished by the law you have just mentioned.”

This view of the case puzzled the Scarecrow.

“How is it, friend Nick?” he asked, turning to the Tin Woodman.

“Why, when it comes to Law, I have nothing to, say” answered that
personage. “for laws were never meant to be understood, and it is
foolish to make the attempt.”

“Then what shall we do?” asked the Scarecrow, in dismay.

“Why don’t you marry the Queen? And then you can both rule,” suggested
the Woggle-Bug.

Jinjur glared at the insect fiercely. “Why don’t you send her back to
her mother, where she belongs?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.

Jinjur frowned.

“Why don’t you shut her up in a closet until she behaves herself, and
promises to be good?” enquired Tip. Jinjur’s lip curled scornfully.

“Or give her a good shaking!” added the Saw-Horse.

“No,” said the Tin Woodman, “we must treat the poor girl with
gentleness. Let us give her all the Jewels she can carry, and send her
away happy and contented.”

[Illustration: image195]

At this Queen Jinjur laughed aloud, and the next minute clapped her
pretty hands together thrice, as if for a signal.

“You are very absurd creatures,” said she; “but I am tired of your
nonsense and have no time to bother with you longer.”

While the monarch and his friends listened in amazement to this
impudent speech, a startling thing happened. The Tin Woodman’s axe was
snatched from his grasp by some person behind him, and he found himself
disarmed and helpless. At the same instant a shout of laughter rang in
the ears of the devoted band, and turning to see whence this came they
found themselves surrounded by the Army of Revolt, the girls bearing in
either hand their glistening knitting-needles. The entire throne room
seemed to be filled with the rebels, and the Scarecrow and his comrades
realized that they were prisoners.

“You see how foolish it is to oppose a woman’s wit,” said Jinjur,
gaily; “and this event only proves that I am more fit to rule the
Emerald City than a Scarecrow. I bear you no ill will, I assure you;
but lest you should prove troublesome to me in the future I shall order
you all to be destroyed. That is, all except the boy, who belongs to
old Mombi and must be restored to her keeping. The rest of you are not
human, and therefore it will not be wicked to demolish you. The
Saw-Horse and the Pumpkinhead’s body I will have chopped up for
kindling-wood; and the pumpkin shall be made into tarts. The Scarecrow
will do nicely to start a bonfire, and the tin man can be cut into
small pieces and fed to the goats. As for this immense Woggle-Bug—”

“Highly Magnified, if you please!” interrupted the insect.

“I think I will ask the cook to make green-turtle soup of you,”
continued the Queen, reflectively.

The Woggle-Bug shuddered.

“Or, if that won’t do, we might use you for a Hungarian goulash, stewed
and highly spiced,” she added, cruelly.

This programme of extermination was so terrible that the prisoners
looked upon one another in a panic of fear. The Scarecrow alone did not
give way to despair. He stood quietly before the Queen and his brow was
wrinkled in deep thought as he strove to find some means to escape.

While thus engaged he felt the straw within his breast move gently. At
once his expression changed from sadness to joy, and raising his hand
he quickly unbuttoned the front of his jacket.

This action did not pass unnoticed by the crowd of girls clustering
about him, but none of them suspected what he was doing until a tiny
grey mouse leaped from his bosom to the floor and scampered away
between the feet of the Army of Revolt. Another mouse quickly followed;
then another and another, in rapid succession. And suddenly such a
scream of terror went up from the Army that it might easily have filled
the stoutest heart with consternation. The flight that ensued turned to
a stampede, and the stampede to a panic.

For while the startled mice rushed wildly about the room the Scarecrow
had only time to note a whirl of skirts and a twinkling of feet as the
girls disappeared from the palace—pushing and crowding one another in
their mad efforts to escape.

The Queen, at the first alarm, stood up on the cushions of the throne
and began to dance frantically upon her tiptoes. Then a mouse ran up
the cushions, and with a terrified leap poor Jinjur shot clear over the
head of the Scarecrow and escaped through an archway—never pausing in
her wild career until she had reached the city gates.

So, in less time than I can explain, the throne room was deserted by
all save the Scarecrow and his friends, and the Woggle-Bug heaved a
deep sigh of relief as he exclaimed:

“Thank goodness, we are saved!”

“For a time, yes;” answered the Tin Woodman. “But the enemy will soon
return, I fear.”

“Let us bar all the entrances to the palace!” said the Scarecrow. “Then
we shall have time to think what is best to be done.”

So all except Jack Pumpkinhead, who was still tied fast to the
Saw-Horse, ran to the various entrances of the royal palace and closed
the heavy doors, bolting and locking them securely. Then, knowing that
the Army of Revolt could not batter down the barriers in several days,
the adventurers gathered once more in the throne room for a council of
war.

[Illustration: image201]

[Illustration: image202]

[Illustration: image203]




The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think


“It seems to me,” began the Scarecrow, when all were again assembled in
the throne room, “that the girl Jinjur is quite right in claiming to be
Queen. And if she is right, then I am wrong, and we have no business to
be occupying her palace.”

“But you were the King until she came,” said the Woggle-Bug, strutting
up and down with his hands in his pockets; “so it appears to me that
she is the interloper instead of you.”

“Especially as we have just conquered her and put her to flight,” added
the Pumpkinhead, as he raised his hands to turn his face toward the
Scarecrow.

“Have we really conquered her?” asked the Scarecrow, quietly. “Look out
of the window, and tell me what you see.”

Tip ran to the window and looked out.

“The palace is surrounded by a double row of girl soldiers,” he
announced.

“I thought so,” returned the Scarecrow. “We are as truly their
prisoners as we were before the mice frightened them from the palace.”

“My friend is right,” said Nick Chopper, who had been polishing his
breast with a bit of chamois-leather. “Jinjur is still the Queen, and
we are her prisoners.”

“But I hope she cannot get at us,” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, with a
shiver of fear. “She threatened to make tarts of me, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” said the Tin Woodman. “It cannot matter greatly. If you
stay shut up here you will spoil in time, anyway. A good tart is far
more admirable than a decayed intellect.”

“Very true,” agreed the Scarecrow.

“Oh, dear!” moaned Jack; “what an unhappy lot is mine! Why, dear
father, did you not make me out of tin—or even out of straw—so that I
would keep indefinitely.”

“Shucks!” returned Tip, indignantly. “You ought to be glad that I made
you at all.” Then he added, reflectively, “everything has to come to an
end, some time.”

“But I beg to remind you,” broke in the Woggle-Bug, who had a
distressed look in his bulging, round eyes, “that this terrible Queen
Jinjur suggested making a goulash of me—Me! the only Highly Magnified
and Thoroughly Educated Woggle-Bug in the wide, wide world!”

“I think it was a brilliant idea,” remarked the Scarecrow, approvingly.

“Don’t you imagine he would make a better soup?” asked the Tin Woodman,
turning toward his friend.

“Well, perhaps,” acknowledged the Scarecrow.

The Woggle-Bug groaned.

“I can see, in my mind’s eye,” said he, mournfully, “the goats eating
small pieces of my dear comrade, the Tin Woodman, while my soup is
being cooked on a bonfire built of the Saw-Horse and Jack Pumpkinhead’s
body, and Queen Jinjur watches me boil while she feeds the flames with
my friend the Scarecrow!”

[Illustration: image205]

This morbid picture cast a gloom over the entire party, making them
restless and anxious.

“It can’t happen for some time,” said the Tin Woodman, trying to speak
cheerfully; “for we shall be able to keep Jinjur out of the palace
until she manages to break down the doors.”

“And in the meantime I am liable to starve to death, and so is the
Woggle-Bug,” announced Tip.

“As for me,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I think that I could live for some
time on Jack Pumpkinhead. Not that I prefer pumpkins for food; but I
believe they are somewhat nutritious, and Jack’s head is large and
plump.”

“How heartless!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman, greatly shocked. “Are we
cannibals, let me ask? Or are we faithful friends?”

“I see very clearly that we cannot stay shut up in this palace,” said
the Scarecrow, with decision. “So let us end this mournful talk and try
to discover a means to escape.”

At this suggestion they all gathered eagerly around the throne, wherein
was seated the Scarecrow, and as Tip sat down upon a stool there fell
from his pocket a pepper-box, which rolled upon the floor.

“What is this?” asked Nick Chopper, picking up the box.

“Be careful!” cried the boy. “That’s my Powder of Life. Don’t spill it,
for it is nearly gone.”

“And what is the Powder of Life?” enquired the Scarecrow, as Tip
replaced the box carefully in his pocket.

“It’s some magical stuff old Mombi got from a crooked sorcerer,”
explained the boy. “She brought Jack to life with it, and afterward I
used it to bring the Saw-Horse to life. I guess it will make anything
live that is sprinkled with it; but there’s only about one dose left.”

“Then it is very precious,” said the Tin Woodman.

“Indeed it is,” agreed the Scarecrow. “It may prove our best means of
escape from our difficulties. I believe I will think for a few minutes;
so I will thank you, friend Tip, to get out your knife and rip this
heavy crown from my forehead.”

Tip soon cut the stitches that had fastened the crown to the
Scarecrow’s head, and the former monarch of the Emerald City removed it
with a sigh of relief and hung it on a peg beside the throne.

[Illustration: image209]

“That is my last memento of royalty” said he; “and I’m glad to get rid
of it. The former King of this City, who was named Pastoria, lost the
crown to the Wonderful Wizard, who passed it on to me. Now the girl
Jinjur claims it, and I sincerely hope it will not give her a
headache.”

“A kindly thought, which I greatly admire,” said the Tin Woodman,
nodding approvingly.

“And now I will indulge in a quiet think,” continued the Scarecrow,
lying back in the throne.

The others remained as silent and still as possible, so as not to
disturb him; for all had great confidence in the extraordinary brains
of the Scarecrow.

And, after what seemed a very long time indeed to the anxious watchers,
the thinker sat up, looked upon his friends with his most whimsical
expression, and said:

“My brains work beautifully today. I’m quite proud of them. Now,
listen! If we attempt to escape through the doors of the palace we
shall surely be captured. And, as we can’t escape through the ground,
there is only one other thing to be done. We must escape through the
air!”

He paused to note the effect of these words; but all his hearers seemed
puzzled and unconvinced.

“The Wonderful Wizard escaped in a balloon,” he continued. “We don’t
know how to make a balloon, of course; but any sort of thing that can
fly through the air can carry us easily. So I suggest that my friend
the Tin Woodman, who is a skillful mechanic, shall build some sort of a
machine, with good strong wings, to carry us; and our friend Tip can
then bring the Thing to life with his magical powder.”

“Bravo!” cried Nick Chopper.

“What splendid brains!” murmured Jack.

“Really quite clever!” said the Educated Woggle-Bug.

“I believe it can be done,” declared Tip; “that is, if the Tin Woodman
is equal to making the Thing.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Nick, cheerily; “and, as a matter of fact, I do
not often fail in what I attempt. But the Thing will have to be built
on the roof of the palace, so it can rise comfortably into the air.”

[Illustration: image211]

“To be sure,” said the Scarecrow.

“Then let us search through the palace,” continued the Tin Woodman,
“and carry all the material we can find to the roof, where I will begin
my work.”

“First, however,” said the Pumpkinhead, “I beg you will release me from
this horse, and make me another leg to walk with. For in my present
condition I am of no use to myself or to anyone else.”

So the Tin Woodman knocked a mahogany center-table to pieces with his
axe and fitted one of the legs, which was beautifully carved, on to the
body of Jack Pumpkinhead, who was very proud of the acquisition.

“It seems strange,” said he, as he watched the Tin Woodman work, “that
my left leg should be the most elegant and substantial part of me.”

“That proves you are unusual,” returned the Scarecrow. “and I am
convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world
are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a
tree, and live and die unnoticed.”

“Spoken like a philosopher!” cried the Woggle-Bug, as he assisted the
Tin Woodman to set Jack upon his feet.

“How do you feel now?” asked Tip, watching the Pumpkinhead stump around
to try his new leg.

“As good as new” answered Jack, joyfully, “and quite ready to assist
you all to escape.”

“Then let us get to work,” said the Scarecrow, in a business-like tone.

So, glad to be doing anything that might lead to the end of their
captivity, the friends separated to wander over the palace in search of
fitting material to use in the construction of their aerial machine.

[Illustration: image213]

[Illustration: image214]

[Illustration: image215]




The Astonishing Flight of the Gump


When the adventurers reassembled upon the roof it was found that a
remarkably queer assortment of articles had been selected by the
various members of the party. No one seemed to have a very clear idea
of what was required, but all had brought something.

The Woggle-Bug had taken from its position over the mantle-piece in the
great hallway the head of a Gump, which was adorned with wide-spreading
antlers; and this, with great care and greater difficulty, the insect
had carried up the stairs to the roof. This Gump resembled an Elk’s
head, only the nose turned upward in a saucy manner and there were
whiskers upon its chin, like those of a billy-goat. Why the Woggle-Bug
selected this article he could not have explained, except that it had
aroused his curiosity.

Tip, with the aid of the Saw-Horse, had brought a large, upholstered
sofa to the roof. It was an oldfashioned piece of furniture, with high
back and ends, and it was so heavy that even by resting the greatest
weight upon the back of the Saw-Horse, the boy found himself out of
breath when at last the clumsy sofa was dumped upon the roof.

[Illustration: image217]

The Pumpkinhead had brought a broom, which was the first thing he saw.
The Scarecrow arrived with a coil of clothes-lines and ropes which he
had taken from the courtyard, and in his trip up the stairs he had
become so entangled in the loose ends of the ropes that both he and his
burden tumbled in a heap upon the roof and might have rolled off if Tip
had not rescued him.

The Tin Woodman appeared last. He also had been to the courtyard, where
he had cut four great, spreading leaves from a huge palm-tree that was
the pride of all the inhabitants of the Emerald City.

“My dear Nick!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, seeing what his friend had
done; “you have been guilty of the greatest crime any person can commit
in the Emerald City. If I remember rightly, the penalty for chopping
leaves from the royal palm-tree is to be killed seven times and
afterward imprisoned for life.”

“It cannot be helped now” answered the Tin Woodman, throwing down the
big leaves upon the roof. “But it may be one more reason why it is
necessary for us to escape. And now let us see what you have found for
me to work with.”

Many were the doubtful looks cast upon the heap of miscellaneous
material that now cluttered the roof, and finally the Scarecrow shook
his head and remarked:

“Well, if friend Nick can manufacture, from this mess of rubbish, a
Thing that will fly through the air and carry us to safety, then I will
acknowledge him to be a better mechanic than I suspected.”

But the Tin Woodman seemed at first by no means sure of his powers, and
only after polishing his forehead vigorously with the chamois-leather
did he resolve to undertake the task.

“The first thing required for the machine,” said he, “is a body big
enough to carry the entire party. This sofa is the biggest thing we
have, and might be used for a body. But, should the machine ever tip
sideways, we would all slide off and fall to the ground.”

“Why not use two sofas?” asked Tip. “There’s another one just like this
down stairs.”

“That is a very sensible suggestion,” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “You
must fetch the other sofa at once.”

So Tip and the Saw-Horse managed, with much labor, to get the second
sofa to the roof; and when the two were placed together, edge to edge,
the backs and ends formed a protecting rampart all around the seats.

“Excellent!” cried the Scarecrow. “We can ride within this snug nest
quite at our ease.”

The two sofas were now bound firmly together with ropes and
clothes-lines, and then Nick Chopper fastened the Gump’s head to one
end.

“That will show which is the front end of the Thing,” said he, greatly
pleased with the idea. “And, really, if you examine it critically, the
Gump looks very well as a figure-head. These great palm-leaves, for
which I have endangered my life seven times, must serve us as wings.”

“Are they strong enough?” asked the boy.

“They are as strong as anything we can get,” answered the Woodman; “and
although they are not in proportion to the Thing’s body, we are not in
a position to be very particular.”

So he fastened the palm-leaves to the sofas, two on each side.

Said the Woggle-Bug, with considerable admiration:

“The Thing is now complete, and only needs to be brought to life.”

“Stop a moment!” exclaimed Jack. “Are you not going to use my broom?”

“What for?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Why, it can be fastened to the back end for a tail,” answered the
Pumpkinhead. “Surely you would not call the Thing complete without a
tail.”

“Hm!” said the Tin Woodman, “I do not see the use of a tail. We are not
trying to copy a beast, or a fish, or a bird. All we ask of the Thing
is to carry us through the air.”

“Perhaps, after the Thing is brought to life, it can use a tail to
steer with,” suggested the Scarecrow. “For if it flies through the air
it will not be unlike a bird, and I’ve noticed that all birds have
tails, which they use for a rudder while flying.”

“Very well,” answered Nick, “the broom shall be used for a tail,” and
he fastened it firmly to the back end of the sofa body.

Tip took the pepper-box from his pocket.

“The Thing looks very big,” said he, anxiously; “and I am not sure
there is enough powder left to bring all of it to life. But I’ll make
it go as far as possible.”

“Put most on the wings,” said Nick Chopper; “for they must be made as
strong as possible.”

“And don’t forget the head!” exclaimed the Woggle-Bug.

“Or the tail!” added Jack Pumpkinhead.

“Do be quiet,” said Tip, nervously; “you must give me a chance to work
the magic charm in the proper manner.”

Very carefully he began sprinkling the Thing with the precious powder.
Each of the four wings was first lightly covered with a layer, then the
sofas were sprinkled, and the broom given a slight coating.

“The head! The head! Don’t, I beg of you, forget the head!” cried the
Woggle-Bug, excitedly.

“There’s only a little of the powder left,” announced Tip, looking
within the box. “And it seems to me it is more important to bring the
legs of the sofas to life than the head.”

“Not so,” decided the Scarecrow. “Every thing must have a head to
direct it; and since this creature is to fly, and not walk, it is
really unimportant whether its legs are alive or not.”

So Tip abided by this decision and sprinkled the Gump’s head with the
remainder of the powder.

“Now” said he, “keep silence while I work the, charm!”

Having heard old Mombi pronounce the magic words, and having also
succeeded in bringing the Saw-Horse to life, Tip did not hesitate an
instant in speaking the three cabalistic words, each accompanied by the
peculiar gesture of the hands.

It was a grave and impressive ceremony.

As he finished the incantation the Thing shuddered throughout its huge
bulk, the Gump gave the screeching cry that is familiar to those
animals, and then the four wings began flopping furiously.

[Illustration: image222]

Tip managed to grasp a chimney, else he would have been blown off the
roof by the terrible breeze raised by the wings. The Scarecrow, being
light in weight, was caught up bodily and borne through the air until
Tip luckily seized him by one leg and held him fast. The Woggle-Bug lay
flat upon the roof and so escaped harm, and the Tin Woodman, whose
weight of tin anchored him firmly, threw both arms around Jack
Pumpkinhead and managed to save him. The Saw-Horse toppled over upon
his back and lay with his legs waving helplessly above him.

And now, while all were struggling to recover themselves, the Thing
rose slowly from the roof and mounted into the air.

“Here! Come back!” cried Tip, in a frightened voice, as he clung to the
chimney with one hand and the Scarecrow with the other. “Come back at
once, I command you!”

It was now that the wisdom of the Scarecrow, in bringing the head of
the Thing to life instead of the legs, was proved beyond a doubt. For
the Gump, already high in the air, turned its head at Tip’s command and
gradually circled around until it could view the roof of the palace.

“Come back!” shouted the boy, again.

And the Gump obeyed, slowly and gracefully waving its four wings in the
air until the Thing had settled once more upon the roof and become
still.

[Illustration: image224]

[Illustration: image225]




In the Jackdaw’s Nest


“This,” said the Gump, in a squeaky voice not at all proportioned to
the size of its great body, “is the most novel experience I ever heard
of. The last thing I remember distinctly is walking through the forest
and hearing a loud noise. Something probably killed me then, and it
certainly ought to have been the end of me. Yet here I am, alive again,
with four monstrous wings and a body which I venture to say would make
any respectable animal or fowl weep with shame to own. What does it all
mean? Am I a Gump, or am I a juggernaut?” The creature, as it spoke,
wiggled its chin whiskers in a very comical manner.

“You’re just a Thing,” answered Tip, “with a Gump’s head on it. And we
have made you and brought you to life so that you may carry us through
the air wherever we wish to go.”

“Very good!” said the Thing. “As I am not a Gump, I cannot have a
Gump’s pride or independent spirit. So I may as well become your
servant as anything else. My only satisfaction is that I do not seem to
have a very strong constitution, and am not likely to live long in a
state of slavery.”

“Don’t say that, I beg of you!” cried the Tin Woodman, whose excellent
heart was strongly affected by this sad speech. “Are you not feeling
well today?”

“Oh, as for that,” returned the Gump, “it is my first day of existence;
so I cannot Judge whether I am feeling well or ill.” And it waved its
broom tail to and fro in a pensive manner.

“Come, come!” said the Scarecrow, kindly. “do try, to be more cheerful
and take life as you find it. We shall be kind masters, and will strive
to render your existence as pleasant as possible. Are you willing to
carry us through the air wherever we wish to go?”

“Certainly,” answered the Gump. “I greatly prefer to navigate the air.
For should I travel on the earth and meet with one of my own species,
my embarrassment would be something awful!”

“I can appreciate that,” said the Tin Woodman, sympathetically.

“And yet,” continued the Thing, “when I carefully look you over, my
masters, none of you seems to be constructed much more artistically
than I am.”

“Appearances are deceitful,” said the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. “I am both
Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated.”

“Indeed!” murmured the Gump, indifferently.

“And my brains are considered remarkably rare specimens,” added the
Scarecrow, proudly.

“How strange!” remarked the Gump.

“Although I am of tin,” said the Woodman, “I own a heart altogether the
warmest and most admirable in the whole world.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” replied the Gump, with a slight cough.

“My smile,” said Jack Pumpkinhead, “is worthy your best attention. It
is always the same.”

“_Semper idem_,” explained the Woggle-Bug, pompously; and the Gump
turned to stare at him.

“And I,” declared the Saw-Horse, filling in an awkward pause, “am only
remarkable because I can’t help it.”

“I am proud, indeed, to meet with such exceptional masters,” said the
Gump, in a careless tone. “If I could but secure so complete an
introduction to myself, I would be more than satisfied.”

“That will come in time,” remarked the Scarecrow. “To ‘Know Thyself’ is
considered quite an accomplishment, which it has taken us, who are your
elders, months to perfect. But now,” he added, turning to the others,
“let us get aboard and start upon our journey.”

“Where shall we go?” asked Tip, as he clambered to a seat on the sofas
and assisted the Pumpkinhead to follow him.

“In the South Country rules a very delightful Queen called Glinda the
Good, who I am sure will gladly receive us,” said the Scarecrow,
getting into the Thing clumsily. “Let us go to her and ask her advice.”

“That is cleverly thought of,” declared Nick Chopper, giving the
Woggle-Bug a boost and then toppling the Saw-Horse into the rear end of
the cushioned seats. “I know Glinda the Good, and believe she will
prove a friend indeed.”

“Are we all ready?” asked the boy.

“Yes,” announced the Tin Woodman, seating himself beside the Scarecrow.

“Then,” said Tip, addressing the Gump, “be kind enough to fly with us
to the Southward; and do not go higher than to escape the houses and
trees, for it makes me dizzy to be up so far.”

“All right,” answered the Gump, briefly.

It flopped its four huge wings and rose slowly into the air; and then,
while our little band of adventurers clung to the backs and sides of
the sofas for support, the Gump turned toward the South and soared
swiftly and majestically away.

[Illustration: image229]

“The scenic effect, from this altitude, is marvelous,” commented the
educated Woggle-Bug, as they rode along.

“Never mind the scenery,” said the Scarecrow. “Hold on tight, or you
may get a tumble. The Thing seems to rock badly.”

“It will be dark soon,” said Tip, observing that the sun was low on the
horizon. “Perhaps we should have waited until morning. I wonder if the
Gump can fly in the night.”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” returned the Gump quietly. “You see,
this is a new experience to me. I used to have legs that carried me
swiftly over the ground. But now my legs feel as if they were asleep.”

“They are,” said Tip. “We didn’t bring ’em to life.”

“You’re expected to fly,” explained the Scarecrow. “not to walk.”

“We can walk ourselves,” said the Woggle-Bug.

“I begin to understand what is required of me,” remarked the Gump; “so
I will do my best to please you,” and he flew on for a time in silence.

Presently Jack Pumpkinhead became uneasy.

“I wonder if riding through the air is liable to spoil pumpkins,” he
said.

“Not unless you carelessly drop your head over the side,” answered the
Woggle-Bug. “In that event your head would no longer be a pumpkin, for
it would become a squash.”

“Have I not asked you to restrain these unfeeling jokes?” demanded Tip,
looking at the Woggle-Bug with a severe expression.

“You have; and I’ve restrained a good many of them,” replied the
insect. “But there are opportunities for so many excellent puns in our
language that, to an educated person like myself, the temptation to
express them is almost irresistible.”

“People with more or less education discovered those puns centuries
ago,” said Tip.

“Are you sure?” asked the Woggle-Bug, with a startled look.

“Of course I am,” answered the boy. “An educated Woggle-Bug may be a
new thing; but a Woggle-Bug education is as old as the hills, judging
from the display you make of it.”

The insect seemed much impressed by this remark, and for a time
maintained a meek silence.

The Scarecrow, in shifting his seat, saw upon the cushions the
pepper-box which Tip had cast aside, and began to examine it.

“Throw it overboard,” said the boy; “it’s quite empty now, and there’s
no use keeping it.”

“Is it really empty?” asked the Scarecrow, looking curiously into the
box.

“Of course it is,” answered Tip. “I shook out every grain of the
powder.”

“Then the box has two bottoms,” announced the Scarecrow, “for the
bottom on the inside is fully an inch away from the bottom on the
outside.”

“Let me see,” said the Tin Woodman, taking the box from his friend.
“Yes,” he declared, after looking it over, “the thing certainly has a
false bottom. Now, I wonder what that is for?”

“Can’t you get it apart, and find out?” enquired Tip, now quite
interested in the mystery.

“Why, yes; the lower bottom unscrews,” said the Tin Woodman. “My
fingers are rather stiff; please see if you can open it.”

He handed the pepper-box to Tip, who had no difficulty in unscrewing
the bottom. And in the cavity below were three silver pills, with a
carefully folded paper lying underneath them.

This paper the boy proceeded to unfold, taking care not to spill the
pills, and found several lines clearly written in red ink.

“Read it aloud,” said the Scarecrow. so Tip read, as follows:

“DR. NIKIDIK’S CELEBRATED WISHING PILLS.

“_Directions for Use:_ Swallow one pill; count seventeen by twos; then
make a Wish. The Wish will immediately be granted.

CAUTION: Keep in a Dry and Dark Place.”

“Why, this is a very valuable discovery!” cried the Scarecrow.

“It is, indeed,” replied Tip, gravely. “These pills may be of great use
to us. I wonder if old Mombi knew they were in the bottom of the
pepper-box. I remember hearing her say that she got the Powder of Life
from this same Nikidik.”

“He must be a powerful Sorcerer!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “and since
the powder proved a success we ought to have confidence in the pills.”

“But how,” asked the Scarecrow, “can anyone count seventeen by twos?
Seventeen is an odd number.”

“That is true,” replied Tip, greatly disappointed. “No one can possibly
count seventeen by twos.”

“Then the pills are of no use to us,” wailed the Pumpkinhead; “and this
fact overwhelms me with grief. For I had intended wishing that my head
would never spoil.”

“Nonsense!” said the Scarecrow, sharply. “If we could use the pills at
all we would make far better wishes than that.”

“I do not see how anything could be better,” protested poor Jack. “If
you were liable to spoil at any time you could understand my anxiety.”

“For my part,” said the Tin Woodman, “I sympathize with you in every
respect. But since we cannot count seventeen by twos, sympathy is all
you are liable to get.”

By this time it had become quite dark, and the voyagers found above
them a cloudy sky, through which the rays of the moon could not
penetrate.

The Gump flew steadily on, and for some reason the huge sofa-body
rocked more and more dizzily every hour.

The Woggle-Bug declared he was sea-sick; and Tip was also pale and
somewhat distressed. But the others clung to the backs of the sofas and
did not seem to mind the motion as long as they were not tipped out.

Darker and darker grew the night, and on and on sped the Gump through
the black heavens. The travelers could not even see one another, and an
oppressive silence settled down upon them.

After a long time Tip, who had been thinking deeply, spoke.

“How are we to know when we come to the pallace of Glinda the Good?” he
asked.

“It’s a long way to Glinda’s palace,” answered the Woodman; “I’ve
traveled it.”

“But how are we to know how fast the Gump is flying?” persisted the
boy. “We cannot see a single thing down on the earth, and before
morning we may be far beyond the place we want to reach.”

“That is all true enough,” the Scarecrow replied, a little uneasily.
“But I do not see how we can stop just now; for we might alight in a
river, or on, the top of a steeple; and that would be a great
disaster.”

So they permitted the Gump to fly on, with regular flops of its great
wings, and waited patiently for morning.

Then Tip’s fears were proven to be well founded; for with the first
streaks of gray dawn they looked over the sides of the sofas and
discovered rolling plains dotted with queer villages, where the houses,
instead of being dome-shaped—as they all are in the Land of Oz—had
slanting roofs that rose to a peak in the center. Odd looking animals
were also moving about upon the open plains, and the country was
unfamiliar to both the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, who had formerly
visited Glinda the Good’s domain and knew it well.

“We are lost!” said the Scarecrow, dolefully. “The Gump must have
carried us entirely out of the Land of Oz and over the sandy deserts
and into the terrible outside world that Dorothy told us about.”

“We must get back,” exclaimed the Tin Woodman, earnestly. “we must get
back as soon as possible!”

“Turn around!” cried Tip to the Gump. “turn as quickly as you can!”

“If I do I shall upset,” answered the Gump. “I’m not at all used to
flying, and the best plan would be for me to alight in some place, and
then I can turn around and take a fresh start.”

Just then, however, there seemed to be no stopping-place that would
answer their purpose. They flew over a village so big that the
Woggle-Bug declared it was a city, and then they came to a range of
high mountains with many deep gorges and steep cliffs showing plainly.

“Now is our chance to stop,” said the boy, finding they were very close
to the mountain tops. Then he turned to the Gump and commanded: “Stop
at the first level place you see!”

“Very well,” answered the Gump, and settled down upon a table of rock
that stood between two cliffs.

But not being experienced in such matters, the Gump did not judge his
speed correctly; and instead of coming to a stop upon the flat rock he
missed it by half the width of his body, breaking off both his right
wings against the sharp edge of the rock and then tumbling over and
over down the cliff.

Our friends held on to the sofas as long as they could, but when the
Gump caught on a projecting rock the Thing stopped suddenly—bottom side
up—and all were immediately dumped out.

[Illustration: image239]

By good fortune they fell only a few feet; for underneath them was a
monster nest, built by a colony of Jackdaws in a hollow ledge of rock;
so none of them—not even the Pumpkinhead—was injured by the fall. For
Jack found his precious head resting on the soft breast of the
Scarecrow, which made an excellent cushion; and Tip fell on a mass of
leaves and papers, which saved him from injury. The Woggle-Bug had
bumped his round head against the Saw-Horse, but without causing him
more than a moment’s inconvenience.

The Tin Woodman was at first much alarmed; but finding he had escaped
without even a scratch upon his beautiful nickle-plate he at once
regained his accustomed cheerfulness and turned to address his
comrades.

“Our Journey had ended rather suddenly,” said he; “and we cannot justly
blame our friend the Gump for our accident, because he did the best he
could under the circumstances. But how we are ever to escape from this
nest I must leave to someone with better brains than I possess.”

Here he gazed at the Scarecrow; who crawled to the edge of the nest and
looked over. Below them was a sheer precipice several hundred feet in
depth. Above them was a smooth cliff unbroken save by the point of rock
where the wrecked body of the Gump still hung suspended from the end of
one of the sofas. There really seemed to be no means of escape, and as
they realized their helpless plight the little band of adventurers gave
way to their bewilderment.

“This is a worse prison than the palace,” sadly remarked the
Woggle-Bug.

“I wish we had stayed there,” moaned Jack.

“I’m afraid the mountain air isn’t good for pumpkins.”

“It won’t be when the Jackdaws come back,” growled the Saw-Horse, which
lay waving its legs in a vain endeavor to get upon its feet again.
“Jackdaws are especially fond of pumpkins.”

“Do you think the birds will come here?” asked Jack, much distressed.

“Of course they will,” said Tip; “for this is their nest. And there
must be hundreds of them,” he continued, “for see what a lot of things
they have brought here!”

Indeed, the nest was half filled with a most curious collection of
small articles for which the birds could have no use, but which the
thieving Jackdaws had stolen during many years from the homes of men.
And as the nest was safely hidden where no human being could reach it,
this lost property would never be recovered.

[Illustration: image242]

The Woggle-Bug, searching among the rubbish—for the Jackdaws stole
useless things as well as valuable ones—turned up with his foot a
beautiful diamond necklace. This was so greatly admired by the Tin
Woodman that the Woggle-Bug presented it to him with a graceful speech,
after which the Woodman hung it around his neck with much pride,
rejoicing exceedingly when the big diamonds glittered in the sun’s
rays.

But now they heard a great jabbering and flopping of wings, and as the
sound grew nearer to them Tip exclaimed:

“The Jackdaws are coming! And if they find us here they will surely
kill us in their anger.”

“I was afraid of this!” moaned the Pumpkinhead. “My time has come!”

“And mine, also!” said the Woggle-Bug; “for Jackdaws are the greatest
enemies of my race.”

The others were not at all afraid; but the Scarecrow at once decided to
save those of the party who were liable to be injured by the angry
birds. So he commanded Tip to take off Jack’s head and lie down with it
in the bottom of the nest, and when this was done he ordered the
Woggle-Bug to lie beside Tip. Nick Chopper, who knew from past
experience Just what to do, then took the Scarecrow to pieces (all
except his head) and scattered the straw over Tip and the Woggle-Bug,
completely covering their bodies.

Hardly had this been accomplished when the flock of Jackdaws reached
them. Perceiving the intruders in their nest the birds flew down upon
them with screams of rage.

[Illustration: image244]

[Illustration: image245]




Dr. Nikidik’s Famous Wishing Pills


The Tin Woodman was usually a peaceful man, but when occasion required
he could fight as fiercely as a Roman gladiator. So, when the Jackdaws
nearly knocked him down in their rush of wings, and their sharp beaks
and claws threatened to damage his brilliant plating, the Woodman
picked up his axe and made it whirl swiftly around his head.

But although many were beaten off in this way, the birds were so
numerous and so brave that they continued the attack as furiously as
before. Some of them pecked at the eyes of the Gump, which hung over
the nest in a helpless condition; but the Gump’s eyes were of glass and
could not be injured. Others of the Jackdaws rushed at the Saw-Horse;
but that animal, being still upon his back, kicked out so viciously
with his wooden legs that he beat off as many assailants as did the
Woodman’s axe.

Finding themselves thus opposed, the birds fell upon the Scarecrow’s
straw, which lay at the center of the nest, covering Tip and the
Woggle-Bug and Jack’s pumpkin head, and began tearing it away and
flying off with it, only to let it drop, straw by straw into the great
gulf beneath.

[Illustration: image247]

The Scarecrow’s head, noting with dismay this wanton destruction of his
interior, cried to the Tin Woodman to save him; and that good friend
responded with renewed energy. His axe fairly flashed among the
Jackdaws, and fortunately the Gump began wildly waving the two wings
remaining on the left side of its body. The flutter of these great
wings filled the Jackdaws with terror, and when the Gump by its
exertions freed itself from the peg of rock on which it hung, and sank
flopping into the nest, the alarm of the birds knew no bounds and they
fled screaming over the mountains.

When the last foe had disappeared, Tip crawled from under the sofas and
assisted the Woggle-Bug to follow him.

“We are saved!” shouted the boy, delightedly.

“We are, indeed!” responded the Educated Insect, fairly hugging the
stiff head of the Gump in his joy. “and we owe it all to the flopping
of the Thing, and the good axe of the Woodman!”

“If I am saved, get me out of here!” called Jack; whose head was still
beneath the sofas; and Tip managed to roll the pumpkin out and place it
upon its neck again. He also set the Saw-Horse upright, and said to it:

“We owe you many thanks for the gallant fight you made.”

“I really think we have escaped very nicely,” remarked the Tin Woodman,
in a tone of pride.

“Not so!” exclaimed a hollow voice.

At this they all turned in surprise to look at the Scarecrow’s head,
which lay at the back of the nest.

“I am completely ruined!” declared the Scarecrow, as he noted their
astonishment. “For where is the straw that stuffs my body?”

The awful question startled them all. They gazed around the nest with
horror, for not a vestige of straw remained. The Jackdaws had stolen it
to the last wisp and flung it all into the chasm that yawned for
hundreds of feet beneath the nest.

[Illustration: image249]

“My poor, poor friend!” said the Tin Woodman, taking up the Scarecrow’s
head and caressing it tenderly; “whoever could imagine you would come
to this untimely end?”

“I did it to save my friends,” returned the head; “and I am glad that I
perished in so noble and unselfish a manner.”

“But why are you all so despondent?” inquired the Woggle-Bug. “The
Scarecrow’s clothing is still safe.”

“Yes,” answered the Tin Woodman; “but our friend’s clothes are useless
without stuffing.”

“Why not stuff him with money?” asked Tip.

“Money!” they all cried, in an amazed chorus.

“To be sure,” said the boy. “In the bottom of the nest are thousands of
dollar bills—and two-dollar bills—and five-dollar bills—and tens, and
twenties, and fifties. There are enough of them to stuff a dozen
Scarecrows. Why not use the money?”

The Tin Woodman began to turn over the rubbish with the handle of his
axe; and, sure enough, what they had first thought only worthless
papers were found to be all bills of various denominations, which the
mischievous Jackdaws had for years been engaged in stealing from the
villages and cities they visited.

There was an immense fortune lying in that inaccessible nest; and Tip’s
suggestion was, with the Scarecrow’s consent, quickly acted upon.

They selected all the newest and cleanest bills and assorted them into
various piles. The Scarecrow’s left leg and boot were stuffed with
five-dollar bills; his right leg was stuffed with ten-dollar bills, and
his body so closely filled with fifties, one-hundreds and one-thousands
that he could scarcely button his jacket with comfort.

[Illustration: image251]

“You are now” said the Woggle-Bug, impressively, when the task had been
completed, “the most valuable member of our party; and as you are among
faithful friends there is little danger of your being spent.”

“Thank you,” returned the Scarecrow, gratefully. “I feel like a new
man; and although at first glance I might be mistaken for a Safety
Deposit Vault, I beg you to remember that my Brains are still composed
of the same old material. And these are the possessions that have
always made me a person to be depended upon in an emergency.”

“Well, the emergency is here,” observed Tip; “and unless your brains
help us out of it we shall be compelled to pass the remainder of our
lives in this nest.”

“How about these wishing pills?” enquired the Scarecrow, taking the box
from his jacket pocket. “Can’t we use them to escape?”

“Not unless we can count seventeen by twos,” answered the Tin Woodman.
“But our friend the Woggle-Bug claims to be highly educated, so he
ought easily to figure out how that can be done.”

“It isn’t a question of education,” returned the Insect; “it’s merely a
question of mathematics. I’ve seen the professor work lots of sums on
the blackboard, and he claimed anything could be done with x’s and y’s
and a’s, and such things, by mixing them up with plenty of plusses and
minuses and equals, and so forth. But he never said anything, so far as
I can remember, about counting up to the odd number of seventeen by the
even numbers of twos.”

“Stop! stop!” cried the Pumpkinhead. “You’re making my head ache.”

“And mine,” added the Scarecrow. “Your mathematics seem to me very like
a bottle of mixed pickles the more you fish for what you want the less
chance you have of getting it. I am certain that if the thing can be
accomplished at all, it is in a very simple manner.”

“Yes,” said Tip. “old Mombi couldn’t use x’s and minuses, for she never
went to school.”

“Why not start counting at a half of one?” asked the Saw-Horse,
abruptly. “Then anyone can count up to seventeen by twos very easily.”

They looked at each other in surprise, for the Saw-Horse was considered
the most stupid of the entire party.

“You make me quite ashamed of myself,” said the Scarecrow, bowing low
to the Saw-Horse.

“Nevertheless, the creature is right,” declared the Woggle-Bug; “for
twice one-half is one, and if you get to one it is easy to count from
one up to seventeen by twos.”

“I wonder I didn’t think of that myself,” said the Pumpkinhead.

“I don’t,” returned the Scarecrow. “You’re no wiser than the rest of
us, are you? But let us make a wish at once. Who will swallow the first
pill?”

“Suppose you do it,” suggested Tip.

“I can’t,” said the Scarecrow.

“Why not? You’ve a mouth, haven’t you?” asked the boy.

“Yes; but my mouth is painted on, and there’s no swallow connected with
it,” answered the Scarecrow. “In fact,” he continued, looking from one
to another critically, “I believe the boy and the Woggle-Bug are the
only ones in our party that are able to swallow.”

Observing the truth of this remark, Tip said:

“Then I will undertake to make the first wish. Give me one of the
Silver Pills.”

This the Scarecrow tried to do; but his padded gloves were too clumsy
to clutch so small an object, and he held the box toward the boy while
Tip selected one of the pills and swallowed it.

“Count!” cried the Scarecrow.

“One-half, one, three, five, seven, nine, eleven,” counted Tip.
“thirteen, fifteen, seventeen.”

“Now wish!” said the Tin Woodman anxiously:

But Just then the boy began to suffer such fearful pains that he became
alarmed.

“The pill has poisoned me!” he gasped; “O—h! O-o-o-o-o! Ouch! Murder!
Fire! O-o-h!” and here he rolled upon the bottom of the nest in such
contortions that he frightened them all.

“What can we do for you. Speak, I beg!” entreated the Tin Woodman,
tears of sympathy running down his nickel cheeks.

“I—I don’t know!” answered Tip. “O—h! I wish I’d never swallowed that
pill!”

Then at once the pain stopped, and the boy rose to his feet again and
found the Scarecrow looking with amazement at the end of the
pepper-box.

“What’s happened?” asked the boy, a little ashamed of his recent
exhibition.

“Why, the three pills are in the box again!” said the Scarecrow.

“Of course they are,” the Woggle-Bug declared. “Didn’t Tip wish that
he’d never swallowed one of them? Well, the wish came true, and he
_didn’t_ swallow one of them. So of course they are all three in the
box.”

“That may be; but the pill gave me a dreadful pain, just the same,”
said the boy.

“Impossible!” declared the Woggle-Bug. “If you have never swallowed it,
the pill can not have given you a pain. And as your wish, being
granted, proves you did not swallow the pill, it is also plain that you
suffered no pain.”

[Illustration: image255]

“Then it was a splendid imitation of a pain,” retorted Tip, angrily.
“Suppose you try the next pill yourself. We’ve wasted one wish
already.”

“Oh, no, we haven’t!” protested the Scarecrow. “Here are still three
pills in the box, and each pill is good for a wish.”

“Now you’re making _my_ head ache,” said Tip. “I can’t understand the
thing at all. But I won’t take another pill, I promise you!” and with
this remark he retired sulkily to the back of the nest.

“Well,” said the Woggle-Bug, “it remains for me to save us in my most
Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated manner; for I seem to be the
only one able and willing to make a wish. Let me have one of the
pills.”

He swallowed it without hesitation, and they all stood admiring his
courage while the Insect counted seventeen by twos in the same way that
Tip had done. And for some reason—perhaps because Woggle-Bugs have
stronger stomachs than boys—the silver pellet caused it no pain
whatever.

“I wish the Gump’s broken wings mended, and as good as new!” said the
Woggle-Bug, in a slow; impressive voice.

All turned to look at the Thing, and so quickly had the wish been
granted that the Gump lay before them in perfect repair, and as well
able to fly through the air as when it had first been brought to life
on the roof of the palace.

[Illustration: image257]

[Illustration: image258]

[Illustration: image259]




The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good


“Hooray!” shouted the Scarecrow, gaily. “We can now leave this
miserable Jackdaws’ nest whenever we please.”

“But it is nearly dark,” said the Tin Woodman; “and unless we wait
until morning to make our flight we may get into more trouble. I don’t
like these night trips, for one never knows what will happen.”

So it was decided to wait until daylight, and the adventurers amused
themselves in the twilight by searching the Jackdaws’ nest for
treasures.

The Woggle-Bug found two handsome bracelets of wrought gold, which
fitted his slender arms very well. The Scarecrow took a fancy for
rings, of which there were many in the nest. Before long he had fitted
a ring to each finger of his padded gloves, and not being content with
that display he added one more to each thumb. As he carefully chose
those rings set with sparkling stones, such as rubies, amethysts and
sapphires, the Scarecrow’s hands now presented a most brilliant
appearance.

“This nest would be a picnic for Queen Jinjur,” said he, musingly. “for
as nearly as I can make out she and her girls conquered me merely to
rob my city of its emeralds.”

The Tin Woodman was content with his diamond necklace and refused to
accept any additional decorations; but Tip secured a fine gold watch,
which was attached to a heavy fob, and placed it in his pocket with
much pride. He also pinned several jeweled brooches to Jack
Pumpkinhead’s red waistcoat, and attached a lorgnette, by means of a
fine chain, to the neck of the Saw-Horse.

“It’s very pretty,” said the creature, regarding the lorgnette
approvingly; “but what is it for?”

None of them could answer that question, however; so the Saw-Horse
decided it was some rare decoration and became very fond of it.

That none of the party might be slighted, they ended by placing several
large seal rings upon the points of the Gump’s antlers, although that
odd personage seemed by no means gratified by the attention.

Darkness soon fell upon them, and Tip and the Woggle-Bug went to sleep
while the others sat down to wait patiently for the day.

Next morning they had cause to congratulate themselves upon the useful
condition of the Gump; for with daylight a great flock of Jackdaws
approached to engage in one more battle for the possession of the nest.

But our adventurers did not wait for the assault. They tumbled into the
cushioned seats of the sofas as quickly as possible, and Tip gave the
word to the Gump to start.

At once it rose into the air, the great wings flopping strongly and
with regular motions, and in a few moments they were so far from the
nest that the chattering Jackdaws took possession without any attempt
at pursuit.

The Thing flew due North, going in the same direction from whence it
had come. At least, that was the Scarecrow’s opinion, and the others
agreed that the Scarecrow was the best judge of direction. After
passing over several cities and villages the Gump carried them high
above a broad plain where houses became more and more scattered until
they disappeared altogether. Next came the wide, sandy desert
separating the rest of the world from the Land of Oz, and before noon
they saw the dome-shaped houses that proved they were once more within
the borders of their native land.

“But the houses and fences are blue,” said the Tin Woodman, “and that
indicates we are in the land of the Munchkins, and therefore a long
distance from Glinda the Good.”

“What shall we do?” asked the boy, turning to their guide.

“I don’t know” replied the Scarecrow, frankly. “If we were at the
Emerald City we could then move directly southward, and so reach our
destination. But we dare not go to the Emerald City, and the Gump is
probably carrying us further in the wrong direction with every flop of
its wings.”

“Then the Woggle-Bug must swallow another pill,” said Tip, decidedly,
“and wish us headed in the right direction.”

“Very well,” returned the Highly Magnified one; “I’m willing.”

But when the Scarecrow searched in his pocket for the pepper-box
containing the two silver Wishing Pills, it was not to be found. Filled
with anxiety, the voyagers hunted throughout every inch of the Thing
for the precious box; but it had disappeared entirely.

And still the Gump flew onward, carrying them they knew not where.

“I must have left the pepper-box in the Jackdaws’ nest,” said the
Scarecrow, at length.

“It is a great misfortune,” the Tin Woodman declared. “But we are no
worse off than before we discovered the Wishing Pills.”

“We are better off,” replied Tip. “for the one pill we used has enabled
us to escape from that horrible nest.”

“Yet the loss of the other two is serious, and I deserve a good
scolding for my carelessness,” the Scarecrow rejoined, penitently. “For
in such an unusual party as this accidents are liable to happen any
moment, and even now we may be approaching a new danger.”

No one dared contradict this, and a dismal silence ensued.

The Gump flew steadily on.

Suddenly Tip uttered an exclamation of surprise. “We must have reached
the South Country,” he cried, “for below us everything is red!”

Immediately they all leaned over the backs of the sofas to look—all
except Jack, who was too careful of his pumpkin head to risk its
slipping off his neck. Sure enough; the red houses and fences and trees
indicated they were within the domain of Glinda the Good; and
presently, as they glided rapidly on, the Tin Woodman recognized the
roads and buildings they passed, and altered slightly the flight of the
Gump so that they might reach the palace of the celebrated Sorceress.

[Illustration: image264]

“Good!” cried the Scarecrow, delightedly. “We do not need the lost
Wishing Pills now, for we have arrived at our destination.”

Gradually the Thing sank lower and nearer to the ground until at length
it came to rest within the beautiful gardens of Glinda, settling upon a
velvety green lawn close by a fountain which sent sprays of flashing
gems, instead of water, high into the air, whence they fell with a
soft, tinkling sound into the carved marble basin placed to receive
them.

Everything was very gorgeous in Glinda’s gardens, and while our
voyagers gazed about with admiring eyes a company of soldiers silently
appeared and surrounded them. But these soldiers of the great Sorceress
were entirely different from those of Jinjur’s Army of Revolt, although
they were likewise girls. For Glinda’s soldiers wore neat uniforms and
bore swords and spears; and they marched with a skill and precision
that proved them well trained in the arts of war.

The Captain commanding this troop—which was Glinda’s private Body
Guard—recognized the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman at once, and greeted
them with respectful salutations.

“Good day!” said the Scarecrow, gallantly removing his hat, while the
Woodman gave a soldierly salute; “we have come to request an audience
with your fair Ruler.”

“Glinda is now within her palace, awaiting you,” returned the Captain;
“for she saw you coming long before you arrived.”

“That is strange!” said Tip, wondering.

“Not at all,” answered the Scarecrow, “for Glinda the Good is a mighty
Sorceress, and nothing that goes on in the Land of Oz escapes her
notice. I suppose she knows why we came as well as we do ourselves.”

“Then what was the use of our coming?” asked Jack, stupidly.

“To prove you are a Pumpkinhead!” retorted the Scarecrow. “But, if the
Sorceress expects us, we must not keep her waiting.”

So they all clambered out of the sofas and followed the Captain toward
the palace—even the Saw-Horse taking his place in the queer procession.

Upon her throne of finely wrought gold sat Glinda, and she could
scarcely repress a smile as her peculiar visitors entered and bowed
before her. Both the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman she knew and liked;
but the awkward Pumpkinhead and Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug were
creatures she had never seen before, and they seemed even more curious
than the others. As for the Saw-Horse, he looked to be nothing more
than an animated chunk of wood; and he bowed so stiffly that his head
bumped against the floor, causing a ripple of laughter among the
soldiers, in which Glinda frankly joined.

[Illustration: image266]

“I beg to announce to your glorious highness,” began the Scarecrow, in
a solemn voice, “that my Emerald City has been overrun by a crowd of
impudent girls with knitting-needles, who have enslaved all the men,
robbed the streets and public buildings of all their emerald jewels,
and usurped my throne.”

“I know it,” said Glinda.

“They also threatened to destroy me, as well as all the good friends
and allies you see before you,” continued the Scarecrow. “and had we
not managed to escape their clutches our days would long since have
ended.”

“I know it,” repeated Glinda.

“Therefore I have come to beg your assistance,” resumed the Scarecrow,
“for I believe you are always glad to succor the unfortunate and
oppressed.”

“That is true,” replied the Sorceress, slowly. “But the Emerald City is
now ruled by General Jinjur, who has caused herself to be proclaimed
Queen. What right have I to oppose her?”

“Why, she stole the throne from me,” said the Scarecrow.

“And how came you to possess the throne?” asked Glinda.

“I got it from the Wizard of Oz, and by the choice of the people,”
returned the Scarecrow, uneasy at such questioning.

“And where did the Wizard get it?” she continued gravely.

“I am told he took it from Pastoria, the former King,” said the
Scarecrow, becoming confused under the intent look of the Sorceress.

“Then,” declared Glinda, “the throne of the Emerald City belongs
neither to you nor to Jinjur, but to this Pastoria from whom the Wizard
usurped it.”

“That is true,” acknowledged the Scarecrow, humbly; “but Pastoria is
now dead and gone, and some one must rule in his place.”

“Pastoria had a daughter, who is the rightful heir to the throne of the
Emerald City. Did you know that?” questioned the Sorceress.

“No,” replied the Scarecrow. “But if the girl still lives I will not
stand in her way. It will satisfy me as well to have Jinjur turned out,
as an impostor, as to regain the throne myself. In fact, it isn’t much
fun to be King, especially if one has good brains. I have known for
some time that I am fitted to occupy a far more exalted position. But
where is the girl who owns the throne, and what is her name?”

“Her name is Ozma,” answered Glinda. “But where she is I have tried in
vain to discover. For the Wizard of Oz, when he stole the throne from
Ozma’s father, hid the girl in some secret place; and by means of a
magical trick with which I am not familiar he also managed to prevent
her being discovered—even by so experienced a Sorceress as myself.”

“That is strange,” interrupted the Woggle-Bug, pompously. “I have been
informed that the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was nothing more than a
humbug!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, much provoked by this speech.
“Didn’t he give me a wonderful set of brains?”

“There’s no humbug about my heart,” announced the Tin Woodman, glaring
indignantly at the Woggle-Bug.

“Perhaps I was misinformed,” stammered the Insect, shrinking back; “I
never knew the Wizard personally.”

“Well, we did,” retorted the Scarecrow, “and he was a very great
Wizard, I assure you. It is true he was guilty of some slight
impostures, but unless he was a great Wizard how—let me ask—could he
have hidden this girl Ozma so securely that no one can find her?”

“I—I give it up!” replied the Woggle-Bug, meekly.

“That is the most sensible speech you’ve made,” said the Tin Woodman.

“I must really make another effort to discover where this girl is
hidden,” resumed the Sorceress, thoughtfully. “I have in my library a
book in which is inscribed every action of the Wizard while he was in
our land of Oz—or, at least, every action that could be observed by my
spies. This book I will read carefully tonight, and try to single out
the acts that may guide us in discovering the lost Ozma. In the
meantime, pray amuse yourselves in my palace and command my servants as
if they were your own. I will grant you another audience tomorrow.”

[Illustration: image271]

With this gracious speech Glinda dismissed the adventurers, and they
wandered away through the beautiful gardens, where they passed several
hours enjoying all the delightful things with which the Queen of the
Southland had surrounded her royal palace.

On the following morning they again appeared before Glinda, who said to
them:

“I have searched carefully through the records of the Wizard’s actions,
and among them I can find but three that appear to have been
suspicious. He ate beans with a knife, made three secret visits to old
Mombi, and limped slightly on his left foot.”

“Ah! that last is certainly suspicious!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead.

“Not necessarily,” said the Scarecrow. “he may, have had corns. Now, it
seems to me his eating beans with a knife is more suspicious.”

“Perhaps it is a polite custom in Omaha, from which great country the
Wizard originally came,” suggested the Tin Woodman.

“It may be,” admitted the Scarecrow.

“But why,” asked Glinda, “did he make three secret visits to old
Mombi?”

“Ah! Why, indeed!” echoed the Woggle-Bug, impressively.

“We know that the Wizard taught the old woman many of his tricks of
magic,” continued Glinda; “and this he would not have done had she not
assisted him in some way. So we may suspect with good reason that Mombi
aided him to hide the girl Ozma, who was the real heir to the throne of
the Emerald City, and a constant danger to the usurper. For, if the
people knew that she lived, they would quickly make her their Queen and
restore her to her rightful position.”

“An able argument!” cried the Scarecrow. “I have no doubt that Mombi
was mixed up in this wicked business. But how does that knowledge help
us?”

“We must find Mombi,” replied Glinda, “and force her to tell where the
girl is hidden.”

“Mombi is now with Queen Jinjur, in the Emerald, City” said Tip. “It
was she who threw so many obstacles in our pathway, and made Jinjur
threaten to destroy my friends and give me back into the old witch’s
power.”

“Then,” decided Glinda, “I will march with my army to the Emerald City,
and take Mombi prisoner. After that we can, perhaps, force her to tell
the truth about Ozma.”

“She is a terrible old woman!” remarked Tip, with a shudder at the
thought of Mombi’s black kettle; “and obstinate, too.”

“I am quite obstinate myself,” returned the Sorceress, with a sweet
smile. “so I do not fear Mombi in the least. Today I will make all
necessary preparations, and we will march upon the Emerald City at
daybreak tomorrow.”

[Illustration: image275]

[Illustration: image276]

[Illustration: image277]




The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose


The Army of Glinda the Good looked very grand and imposing when it
assembled at daybreak before the palace gates. The uniforms of the girl
soldiers were pretty and of gay colors, and their silver-tipped spears
were bright and glistening, the long shafts being inlaid with
mother-of-pearl. All the officers wore sharp, gleaming swords, and
shields edged with peacock-feathers; and it really seemed that no foe
could by any possibility defeat such a brilliant army.

The Sorceress rode in a beautiful palanquin which was like the body of
a coach, having doors and windows with silken curtains; but instead of
wheels, which a coach has, the palanquin rested upon two long,
horizontal bars, which were borne upon the shoulders of twelve
servants.

The Scarecrow and his comrades decided to ride in the Gump, in order to
keep up with the swift march of the army; so, as soon as Glinda had
started and her soldiers had marched away to the inspiring strains of
music played by the royal band, our friends climbed into the sofas and
followed. The Gump flew along slowly at a point directly over the
palanquin in which rode the Sorceress.

[Illustration: image278]

“Be careful,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, who was leaning
far over the side to look at the army below. “You might fall.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” remarked the educated Woggle-Bug. “he can’t get
broke so long as he is stuffed with money.”

“Didn’t I ask you” began Tip, in a reproachful voice.

“You did!” said the Woggle-Bug, promptly. “And I beg your pardon. I
will really try to restrain myself.”

“You’d better,” declared the boy. “That is, if you wish to travel in
our company.”

“Ah! I couldn’t bear to part with you now,” murmured the Insect,
feelingly; so Tip let the subject drop.

The army moved steadily on, but night had fallen before they came to
the walls of the Emerald City. By the dim light of the new moon,
however, Glinda’s forces silently surrounded the city and pitched their
tents of scarlet silk upon the greensward. The tent of the Sorceress
was larger than the others, and was composed of pure white silk, with
scarlet banners flying above it. A tent was also pitched for the
Scarecrow’s party; and when these preparations had been made, with
military precision and quickness, the army retired to rest.

Great was the amazement of Queen Jinjur next morning when her soldiers
came running to inform her of the vast army surrounding them. She at
once climbed to a high tower of the royal palace and saw banners waving
in every direction and the great white tent of Glinda standing directly
before the gates.

“We are surely lost!” cried Jinjur, in despair; “for how can our
knitting-needles avail against the long spears and terrible swords of
our foes?”

“The best thing we can do,” said one of the girls, “is to surrender as
quickly as possible, before we get hurt.”

“Not so,” returned Jinjur, more bravely. “The enemy is still outside
the walls, so we must try to gain time by engaging them in parley. Go
you with a flag of truce to Glinda and ask her why she has dared to
invade my dominions, and what are her demands.”

So the girl passed through the gates, bearing a white flag to show she
was on a mission of peace, and came to Glinda’s tent. “Tell your
Queen,” said the Sorceress to the girl, “that she must deliver up to me
old Mombi, to be my prisoner. If this is done I will not molest her
farther.”

[Illustration: image280]

Now when this message was delivered to the Queen it filled her with
dismay, for Mombi was her chief counsellor, and Jinjur was terribly
afraid of the old hag. But she sent for Mombi, and told her what Glinda
had said.

“I see trouble ahead for all of us,” muttered the old witch, after
glancing into a magic mirror she carried in her pocket. “But we may
even yet escape by deceiving this sorceress, clever as she thinks
herself.”

“Don’t you think it will be safer for me to deliver you into her
hands?” asked Jinjur, nervously.

“If you do, it will cost you the throne of the Emerald City!” answered
the witch, positively. “But if you will let me have my own way, I can
save us both very easily.”

“Then do as you please,” replied Jinjur, “for it is so aristocratic to
be a Queen that I do not wish to be obliged to return home again, to
make beds and wash dishes for my mother.”

So Mombi called Jellia Jamb to her, and performed a certain magical
rite with which she was familiar. As a result of the enchantment Jellia
took on the form and features of Mombi, while the old witch grew to
resemble the girl so closely that it seemed impossible anyone could
guess the deception.

“Now,” said old Mombi to the Queen, “let your soldiers deliver up this
girl to Glinda. She will think she has the real Mombi in her power, and
so will return immediately to her own country in the South.”

[Illustration: image282]

Therefore Jellia, hobbling along like an aged woman, was led from the
city gates and taken before Glinda.

“Here is the person you demanded,” said one of the guards, “and our
Queen now begs you will go away, as you promised, and leave us in
peace.”

“That I will surely do,” replied Glinda, much pleased; “if this is
really the person she seems to be.”

“It is certainly old Mombi,” said the guard, who believed she was
speaking the truth; and then Jinjur’s soldiers returned within the
city’s gates.

The Sorceress quickly summoned the Scarecrow and his friends to her
tent, and began to question the supposed Mombi about the lost girl
Ozma. But Jellia knew nothing at all of this affair, and presently she
grew so nervous under the questioning that she gave way and began to
weep, to Glinda’s great astonishment.

“Here is some foolish trickery!” said the Sorceress, her eyes flashing
with anger. “This is not Mombi at all, but some other person who has
been made to resemble her! Tell me,” she demanded, turning to the
trembling girl, “what is your name?”

This Jellia dared not tell, having been threatened with death by the
witch if she confessed the fraud. But Glinda, sweet and fair though she
was, understood magic better than any other person in the Land of Oz.
So, by uttering a few potent words and making a peculiar gesture, she
quickly transformed the girl into her proper shape, while at the same
time old Mombi, far away in Jinjur’s palace, suddenly resumed her own
crooked form and evil features.

“Why, it’s Jellia Jamb!” cried the Scarecrow, recognizing in the girl
one of his old friends.

“It’s our interpreter!” said the Pumpkinhead, smiling pleasantly.

[Illustration: image284]

Then Jellia was forced to tell of the trick Mombi had played and she
also begged Glinda’s protection, which the Sorceress readily granted.
But Glinda was now really angry, and sent word to Jinjur that the fraud
was discovered and she must deliver up the real Mombi or suffer
terrible consequences. Jinjur was prepared for this message, for the
witch well understood, when her natural form was thrust upon her, that
Glinda had discovered her trickery. But the wicked old creature had
already thought up a new deception, and had made Jinjur promise to
carry it out. So the Queen said to Glinda’s messenger:

“Tell your mistress that I cannot find Mombi anywhere, but that Glinda
is welcome to enter the city and search herself for the old woman. She
may also bring her friends with her, if she likes; but if she does not
find Mombi by sundown, the Sorceress must promise to go away peaceably
and bother us no more.”

Glinda agreed to these terms, well knowing that Mombi was somewhere
within the city walls. So Jinjur caused the gates to be thrown open,
and Glinda marched in at the head of a company of soldiers, followed by
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, while Jack Pumpkinhead rode astride
the Saw-Horse, and the Educated, Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug sauntered
behind in a dignified manner. Tip walked by the side of the Sorceress,
for Glinda had conceived a great liking for the boy.

Of course old Mombi had no intention of being found by Glinda; so,
while her enemies were marching up the street, the witch transformed
herself into a red rose growing upon a bush in the garden of the
palace. It was a clever idea, and a trick Glinda did not suspect; so
several precious hours were spent in a vain search for Mombi.

As sundown approached the Sorceress realized she had been defeated by
the superior cunning of the aged witch; so she gave the command to her
people to march out of the city and back to their tents.

The Scarecrow and his comrades happened to be searching in the garden
of the palace just then, and they turned with disappointment to obey
Glinda’s command. But before they left the garden the Tin Woodman, who
was fond of flowers, chanced to espy a big red rose growing upon a
bush; so he plucked the flower and fastened it securely in the tin
buttonhole of his tin bosom.

[Illustration: image285]

As he did this he fancied he heard a low moan proceed from the rose;
but he paid no attention to the sound, and Mombi was thus carried out
of the city and into Glinda’s camp without anyone having a suspicion
that they had succeeded in their quest.

[Illustration: image288]

[Illustration: image289]




The Transformation of Old Mombi


The Witch was at first frightened at finding herself captured by the
enemy; but soon she decided that she was exactly as safe in the Tin
Woodman’s button-hole as growing upon the bush. For no one knew the
rose and Mombi to be one, and now that she was without the gates of the
City her chances of escaping altogether from Glinda were much improved.

“But there is no hurry,” thought Mombi. “I will wait awhile and enjoy
the humiliation of this Sorceress when she finds I have outwitted her.”
So throughout the night the rose lay quietly on the Woodman’s bosom,
and in the morning, when Glinda summoned our friends to a consultation,
Nick Chopper carried his pretty flower with him to the white silk tent.

“For some reason,” said Glinda, “we have failed to find this cunning
old Mombi; so I fear our expedition will prove a failure. And for that
I am sorry, because without our assistance little Ozma will never be
rescued and restored to her rightful position as Queen of the Emerald
City”

“Do not let us give up so easily,” said the Pumpkinhead. “Let us do
something else.”

“Something else must really be done,” replied Glinda, with a smile.
“yet I cannot understand how I have been defeated so easily by an old
Witch who knows far less of magic than I do myself.”

“While we are on the ground I believe it would be wise for us to
conquer the Emerald City for Princess Ozma, and find the girl
afterward,” said the Scarecrow. “And while the girl remains hidden I
will gladly rule in her place, for I understand the business of ruling
much better than Jinjur does.”

“But I have promised not to molest Jinjur,” objected Glinda.

[Illustration: image290]

“Suppose you all return with me to my kingdom—or Empire, rather,” said
the Tin Woodman, politely including the entire party in a royal wave of
his arm. “It will give me great pleasure to entertain you in my castle,
where there is room enough and to spare. And if any of you wish to be
nickel-plated, my valet will do it free of all expense.”

While the Woodman was speaking Glinda’s eyes had been noting the rose
in his button-hole, and now she imagined she saw the big red leaves of
the flower tremble slightly. This quickly aroused her suspicions, and
in a moment more the Sorceress had decided that the seeming rose was
nothing else than a transformation of old Mombi. At the same instant
Mombi knew she was discovered and must quickly plan an escape, and as
transformations were easy to her she immediately took the form of a
Shadow and glided along the wall of the tent toward the entrance,
thinking thus to disappear.

But Glinda had not only equal cunning, but far more experience than the
Witch. So the Sorceress reached the opening of the tent before the
Shadow, and with a wave of her hand closed the entrance so securely
that Mombi could not find a crack big enough to creep through. The
Scarecrow and his friends were greatly surprised at Glinda’s actions;
for none of them had noted the Shadow. But the Sorceress said to them:

“Remain perfectly quiet, all of you! For the old Witch is even now with
us in this tent, and I hope to capture her.”

These words so alarmed Mombi that she quickly transformed herself from
a shadow to a Black Ant, in which shape she crawled along the ground,
seeking a crack or crevice in which to hide her tiny body.

[Illustration: image293]

Fortunately, the ground where the tent had been pitched, being Just
before the city gates, was hard and smooth; and while the Ant still
crawled about, Glinda discovered it and ran quickly forward to effect
its capture But, Just as her hand was descending, the Witch, now fairly
frantic with fear, made her last transformation, and in the form of a
huge Griffin sprang through the wall of the tent—tearing the silk
asunder in her rush—and in a moment had darted away with the speed of a
whirlwind.

Glinda did not hesitate to follow. She sprang upon the back of the
Saw-Horse and cried:

“Now you shall prove that you have a right to be alive! Run—run—run!”

The Saw-Horse ran. Like a flash he followed the Griffin, his wooden
legs moving so fast that they twinkled like the rays of a star. Before
our friends could recover from their surprise both the Griffin and the
Saw-Horse had dashed out of sight.

“Come! Let us follow!” cried the Scarecrow.

They ran to the place where the Gump was lying and quickly tumbled
aboard.

“Fly!” commanded Tip, eagerly.

“Where to?” asked the Gump, in its calm voice.

“I don’t know,” returned Tip, who was very nervous at the delay; “but
if you will mount into the air I think we can discover which way Glinda
has gone.”

“Very well,” returned the Gump, quietly; and it spread its great wings
and mounted high into the air.

[Illustration: image295]

Far away, across the meadows, they could now see two tiny specks,
speeding one after the other; and they knew these specks must be the
Griffin and the Saw-Horse. So Tip called the Gump’s attention to them
and bade the creature try to overtake the Witch and the Sorceress. But,
swift as was the Gump’s flight, the pursued and pursuer moved more
swiftly yet, and within a few moments were blotted out against the dim
horizon.

“Let us continue to follow them, nevertheless,” said the Scarecrow.
“for the Land of Oz is of small extent, and sooner or later they must
both come to a halt.”

Old Mombi had thought herself very wise to choose the form of a
Griffin, for its legs were exceedingly fleet and its strength more
enduring than that of other animals. But she had not reckoned on the
untiring energy of the Saw-Horse, whose wooden limbs could run for days
without slacking their speed. Therefore, after an hour’s hard running,
the Griffin’s breath began to fail, and it panted and gasped painfully,
and moved more slowly than before. Then it reached the edge of the
desert and began racing across the deep sands. But its tired feet sank
far into the sand, and in a few minutes the Griffin fell forward,
completely exhausted, and lay still upon the desert waste.

Glinda came up a moment later, riding the still vigorous Saw-Horse; and
having unwound a slender golden thread from her girdle the Sorceress
threw it over the head of the panting and helpless Griffin, and so
destroyed the magical power of Mombi’s transformation.

For the animal, with one fierce shudder, disappeared from view, while
in its place was discovered the form of the old Witch, glaring savagely
at the serene and beautiful face of the Sorceress.

[Illustration: image297]

[Illustration: image298]

[Illustration: image299]




Princess Ozma of Oz


“You are my prisoner, and it is useless for you to struggle any
longer,” said Glinda, in her soft, sweet voice. “Lie still a moment,
and rest yourself, and then I will carry you back to my tent.”

“Why do you seek me?” asked Mombi, still scarce able to speak plainly
for lack of breath. “What have I done to you, to be so persecuted?”

“You have done nothing to me,” answered the gentle Sorceress; “but I
suspect you have been guilty of several wicked actions; and if I find
it is true that you have so abused your knowledge of magic, I intend to
punish you severely.”

“I defy you!” croaked the old hag. “You dare not harm me!”

Just then the Gump flew up to them and alighted upon the desert sands
beside Glinda. Our friends were delighted to find that Mombi had
finally been captured, and after a hurried consultation it was decided
they should all return to the camp in the Gump. So the Saw-Horse was
tossed aboard, and then Glinda still holding an end of the golden
thread that was around Mombi’s neck, forced her prisoner to climb into
the sofas. The others now followed, and Tip gave the word to the Gump
to return.

The Journey was made in safety, Mombi sitting in her place with a grim
and sullen air; for the old hag was absolutely helpless so long as the
magical thread encircled her throat. The army hailed Glinda’s return
with loud cheers, and the party of friends soon gathered again in the
royal tent, which had been neatly repaired during their absence.

“Now,” said the Sorceress to Mombi, “I want you to tell us why the
Wonderful Wizard of Oz paid you three visits, and what became of the
child, Ozma, which so curiously disappeared.”

The Witch looked at Glinda defiantly, but said not a word.

“Answer me!” cried the Sorceress.

But still Mombi remained silent.

“Perhaps she doesn’t know,” remarked Jack.

“I beg you will keep quiet,” said Tip. “You might spoil everything with
your foolishness.”

“Very well, dear father!” returned the Pumpkinhead, meekly.

“How glad I am to be a Woggle-Bug!” murmured the Highly Magnified
Insect, softly. “No one can expect wisdom to flow from a pumpkin.”

“Well,” said the Scarecrow, “what shall we do to make Mombi speak?
Unless she tells us what we wish to know her capture will do us no good
at all.”

“Suppose we try kindness,” suggested the Tin Woodman. “I’ve heard that
anyone can be conquered with kindness, no matter how ugly they may be.”

At this the Witch turned to glare upon him so horribly that the Tin
Woodman shrank back abashed.

Glinda had been carefully considering what to do, and now she turned to
Mombi and said:

“You will gain nothing, I assure you, by thus defying us. For I am
determined to learn the truth about the girl Ozma, and unless you tell
me all that you know, I will certainly put you to death.”

“Oh, no! Don’t do that!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “It would be an
awful thing to kill anyone—even old Mombi!”

“But it is merely a threat,” returned Glinda. “I shall not put Mombi to
death, because she will prefer to tell me the truth.”

“Oh, I see!” said the tin man, much relieved.

“Suppose I tell you all that you wish to know,”. said Mombi, speaking
so suddenly that she startled them all. “What will you do with me
then?”

“In that case,” replied Glinda, “I shall merely ask you to drink a
powerful draught which will cause you to forget all the magic you have
ever learned.”

“Then I would become a helpless old woman!”

“But you would be alive,” suggested the Pumpkinhead, consolingly.

“Do try to keep silent!” said Tip, nervously.

“I’ll try,” responded Jack; “but you will admit that it’s a good thing
to be alive.”

“Especially if one happens to be Thoroughly Educated,” added the
Woggle-Bug, nodding approval.

“You may make your choice,” Glinda said to old Mombi, “between death if
you remain silent, and the loss of your magical powers if you tell me
the truth. But I think you will prefer to live.”

Mombi cast an uneasy glance at the Sorceress, and saw that she was in
earnest, and not to be trifled with. So she replied, slowly:

“I will answer your questions.”

“That is what I expected,” said Glinda, pleasantly. “You have chosen
wisely, I assure you.”

She then motioned to one of her Captains, who brought her a beautiful
golden casket. From this the Sorceress drew an immense white pearl,
attached to a slender chain which she placed around her neck in such a
way that the pearl rested upon her bosom, directly over her heart.

“Now,” said she, “I will ask my first question: Why did the Wizard pay
you three visits?”

“Because I would not come to him,” answered Mombi.

“That is no answer,” said Glinda, sternly. “Tell me the truth.”

“Well,” returned Mombi, with downcast eyes, “he visited me to learn the
way I make tea-biscuits.”

“Look up!” commanded the Sorceress.

Mombi obeyed.

“What is the color of my pearl?” demanded Glinda.

“Why—it is black!” replied the old Witch, in a tone of wonder.

“Then you have told me a falsehood!” cried Glinda, angrily. “Only when
the truth is spoken will my magic pearl remain a pure white in color.”

Mombi now saw how useless it was to try to deceive the Sorceress; so
she said, meanwhile scowling at her defeat:

“The Wizard brought to me the girl Ozma, who was then no more than a
baby, and begged me to conceal the child.”

“That is what I thought,” declared Glinda, calmly. “What did he give
you for thus serving him?”

“He taught me all the magical tricks he knew. Some were good tricks,
and some were only frauds; but I have remained faithful to my promise.”

“What did you do with the girl?” asked Glinda; and at this question
everyone bent forward and listened eagerly for the reply.

“I enchanted her,” answered Mombi.

“In what way?”

“I transformed her into—into—”

“Into what?” demanded Glinda, as the Witch hesitated.

“_Into a boy!_” said Mombi, in a low tone.

“A boy!” echoed every voice; and then, because they knew that this old
woman had reared Tip from childhood, all eyes were turned to where the
boy stood.

“Yes,” said the old Witch, nodding her head; “that is the Princess
Ozma—the child brought to me by the Wizard who stole her father’s
throne. That is the rightful ruler of the Emerald City!” and she
pointed her long bony finger straight at the boy.

“I!” cried Tip, in amazement. “Why, I’m no Princess Ozma—I’m not a
girl!”

Glinda smiled, and going to Tip she took his small brown hand within
her dainty white one.

“You are not a girl just now” said she, gently, “because Mombi
transformed you into a boy. But you were born a girl, and also a
Princess; so you must resume your proper form, that you may become
Queen of the Emerald City.”

“Oh, let Jinjur be the Queen!” exclaimed Tip, ready to cry. “I want to
stay a boy, and travel with the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and the
Woggle-Bug, and Jack—yes! and my friend the Saw-Horse—and the Gump! I
don’t want to be a girl!”

“Never mind, old chap,” said the Tin Woodman, soothingly; “it don’t
hurt to be a girl, I’m told; and we will all remain your faithful
friends just the same. And, to be honest with you, I’ve always
considered girls nicer than boys.”

“They’re just as nice, anyway,” added the Scarecrow, patting Tip
affectionately upon the head.

“And they are equally good students,” proclaimed the Woggle-Bug. “I
should like to become your tutor, when you are transformed into a girl
again.”

“But—see here!” said Jack Pumpkinhead, with a gasp: “if you become a
girl, you can’t be my dear father any more!”

“No,” answered Tip, laughing in spite of his anxiety. “and I shall not
be sorry to escape the relationship.” Then he added, hesitatingly, as
he turned to Glinda: “I might try it for awhile,-just to see how it
seems, you know. But if I don’t like being a girl you must promise to
change me into a boy again.”

“Really,” said the Sorceress, “that is beyond my magic. I never deal in
transformations, for they are not honest, and no respectable sorceress
likes to make things appear to be what they are not. Only unscrupulous
witches use the art, and therefore I must ask Mombi to effect your
release from her charm, and restore you to your proper form. It will be
the last opportunity she will have to practice magic.”

Now that the truth about Princes Ozma had been discovered, Mombi did
not care what became of Tip; but she feared Glinda’s anger, and the boy
generously promised to provide for Mombi in her old age if he became
the ruler of the Emerald City. So the Witch consented to effect the
transformation, and preparations for the event were at once made.

Glinda ordered her own royal couch to be placed in the center of the
tent. It was piled high with cushions covered with rose-colored silk,
and from a golden railing above hung many folds of pink gossamer,
completely concealing the interior of the couch.

The first act of the Witch was to make the boy drink a potion which
quickly sent him into a deep and dreamless sleep. Then the Tin Woodman
and the Woggle-Bug bore him gently to the couch, placed him upon the
soft cushions, and drew the gossamer hangings to shut him from all
earthly view.

The Witch squatted upon the ground and kindled a tiny fire of dried
herbs, which she drew from her bosom. When the blaze shot up and burned
clearly old Mombi scattered a handful of magical powder over the fire,
which straightway gave off a rich violet vapor, filling all the tent
with its fragrance and forcing the Saw-Horse to sneeze—although he had
been warned to keep quiet.

Then, while the others watched her curiously, the hag chanted a
rhythmical verse in words which no one understood, and bent her lean
body seven times back and forth over the fire. And now the incantation
seemed complete, for the Witch stood upright and cried the one word
“Yeowa!” in a loud voice.

The vapor floated away; the atmosphere became, clear again; a whiff of
fresh air filled the tent, and the pink curtains of the couch trembled
slightly, as if stirred from within.

Glinda walked to the canopy and parted the silken hangings. Then she
bent over the cushions, reached out her hand, and from the couch arose
the form of a young girl, fresh and beautiful as a May morning. Her
eyes sparkled as two diamonds, and her lips were tinted like a
tourmaline. All adown her back floated tresses of ruddy gold, with a
slender jeweled circlet confining them at the brow. Her robes of silken
gauze floated around her like a cloud, and dainty satin slippers shod
her feet.

At this exquisite vision Tip’s old comrades stared in wonder for the
space of a full minute, and then every head bent low in honest
admiration of the lovely Princess Ozma. The girl herself cast one look
into Glinda’s bright face, which glowed with pleasure and satisfaction,
and then turned upon the others. Speaking the words with sweet
diffidence, she said:

“I hope none of you will care less for me than you did before. I’m just
the same Tip, you know; only—only—”

“Only you’re different!” said the Pumpkinhead; and everyone thought it
was the wisest speech he had ever made.

[Illustration: image303]




The Riches of Content


When the wonderful tidings reached the ears of Queen Jinjur—how Mombi
the Witch had been captured; how she had confessed her crime to Glinda;
and how the long-lost Princess Ozma had been discovered in no less a
personage than the boy Tip—she wept real tears of grief and despair.

“To think,” she moaned, “that after having ruled as Queen, and lived in
a palace, I must go back to scrubbing floors and churning butter again!
It is too horrible to think of! I will never consent!”

So when her soldiers, who spent most of their time making fudge in the
palace kitchens, counseled Jinjur to resist, she listened to their
foolish prattle and sent a sharp defiance to Glinda the Good and the
Princess Ozma. The result was a declaration of war, and the very next
day Glinda marched upon the Emerald City with pennants flying and bands
playing, and a forest of shining spears, sparkling brightly beneath the
sun’s rays.

But when it came to the walls this brave assembly made a sudden halt;
for Jinjur had closed and barred every gateway, and the walls of the
Emerald City were builded high and thick with many blocks of green
marble. Finding her advance thus baffled, Glinda bent her brows in deep
thought, while the Woggle-Bug said, in his most positive tone:

“We must lay siege to the city, and starve it into submission. It is
the only thing we can do.”

“Not so,” answered the Scarecrow. “We still have the Gump, and the Gump
can still fly”

The Sorceress turned quickly at this speech, and her face now wore a
bright smile.

“You are right,” she exclaimed, “and certainly have reason to be proud
of your brains. Let us go to the Gump at once!”

So they passed through the ranks of the army until they came to the
place, near the Scarecrow’s tent, where the Gump lay. Glinda and
Princess Ozma mounted first, and sat upon the sofas. Then the Scarecrow
and his friends climbed aboard, and still there was room for a Captain
and three soldiers, which Glinda considered sufficient for a guard.

[Illustration: image305]

Now, at a word from the Princess, the queer Thing they had called the
Gump flopped its palm-leaf wings and rose into the air, carrying the
party of adventurers high above the walls. They hovered over the
palace, and soon perceived Jinjur reclining in a hammock in the
courtyard, where she was comfortably reading a novel with a green cover
and eating green chocolates, confident that the walls would protect her
from her enemies. Obeying a quick command, the Gump alighted safely in
this very courtyard, and before Jinjur had time to do more than scream,
the Captain and three soldiers leaped out and made the former Queen a
prisoner, locking strong chains upon both her wrists.

That act really ended the war; for the Army of Revolt submitted as soon
as they knew Jinjur to be a captive, and the Captain marched in safety
through the streets and up to the gates of the city, which she threw
wide open. Then the bands played their most stirring music while
Glinda’s army marched into the city, and heralds proclaimed the
conquest of the audacious Jinjur and the accession of the beautiful
Princess Ozma to the throne of her royal ancestors.

[Illustration: image306]

At once the men of the Emerald City cast off their aprons. And it is
said that the women were so tired eating of their husbands’ cooking
that they all hailed the conquest of Jinjur with Joy. Certain it is
that, rushing one and all to the kitchens of their houses, the good
wives prepared so delicious a feast for the weary men that harmony was
immediately restored in every family.

Ozma’s first act was to oblige the Army of Revolt to return to her
every emerald or other gem stolen from the public streets and
buildings; and so great was the number of precious stones picked from
their settings by these vain girls, that every one of the royal
jewelers worked steadily for more than a month to replace them in their
settings.

Meanwhile the Army of Revolt was disbanded and the girls sent home to
their mothers. On promise of good behavior Jinjur was likewise
released.

Ozma made the loveliest Queen the Emerald City had ever known; and,
although she was so young and inexperienced, she ruled her people with
wisdom and Justice. For Glinda gave her good advice on all occasions;
and the Woggle-Bug, who was appointed to the important post of Public
Educator, was quite helpful to Ozma when her royal duties grew
perplexing.

The girl, in her gratitude to the Gump for its services, offered the
creature any reward it might name.

“Then,” replied the Gump, “please take me to pieces. I did not wish to
be brought to life, and I am greatly ashamed of my conglomerate
personality. Once I was a monarch of the forest, as my antlers fully
prove; but now, in my present upholstered condition of servitude, I am
compelled to fly through the air—my legs being of no use to me
whatever. Therefore I beg to be dispersed.”

So Ozma ordered the Gump taken apart. The antlered head was again hung
over the mantle-piece in the hall, and the sofas were untied and placed
in the reception parlors. The broom tail resumed its accustomed duties
in the kitchen, and finally, the Scarecrow replaced all the
clotheslines and ropes on the pegs from which he had taken them on the
eventful day when the Thing was constructed.

You might think that was the end of the Gump; and so it was, as a
flying-machine. But the head over the mantle-piece continued to talk
whenever it took a notion to do so, and it frequently startled, with
its abrupt questions, the people who waited in the hall for an audience
with the Queen.

The Saw-Horse, being Ozma’s personal property, was tenderly cared for;
and often she rode the queer creature along the streets of the Emerald
City. She had its wooden legs shod with gold, to keep them from wearing
out, and the tinkle of these golden shoes upon the pavement always
filled the Queen’s subjects with awe as they thought upon this evidence
of her magical powers.

“The Wonderful Wizard was never so wonderful as Queen Ozma,” the people
said to one another, in whispers; “for he claimed to do many things he
could not do; whereas our new Queen does many things no one would ever
expect her to accomplish.”

Jack Pumpkinhead remained with Ozma to the end of his days; and he did
not spoil as soon as he had feared, although he always remained as
stupid as ever. The Woggle-Bug tried to teach him several arts and
sciences; but Jack was so poor a student that any attempt to educate
him was soon abandoned.

After Glinda’s army had marched back home, and peace was restored to
the Emerald City, the Tin Woodman announced his intention to return to
his own Kingdom of the Winkies.

“It isn’t a very big Kingdom,” said he to Ozma, “but for that very
reason it is easier to rule; and I have called myself an Emperor
because I am an Absolute Monarch, and no one interferes in any way with
my conduct of public or personal affairs. When I get home I shall have
a new coat of nickel plate; for I have become somewhat marred and
scratched lately; and then I shall be glad to have you pay me a visit.”

“Thank you,” replied Ozma. “Some day I may accept the invitation. But
what is to become of the Scarecrow?”

“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one,
seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”

[Illustration: image309]

“And I have made the Scarecrow my Royal Treasurer,” explained the Tin
Woodman. “For it has occurred to me that it is a good thing to have a
Royal Treasurer who is made of money. What do you think?”

“I think,” said the little Queen, smiling, “that your friend must be
the richest man in all the world.”

“I am,” returned the Scarecrow. “but not on account of my money. For I
consider brains far superior to money, in every way. You may have
noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to
advantage; but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to
live comfortably to the end of his days.”

“At the same time,” declared the Tin Woodman, “you must acknowledge
that a good heart is a thing that brains can not create, and that money
can not buy. Perhaps, after all, it is I who am the richest man in all
the world.”

“You are both rich, my friends,” said Ozma, gently; “and your riches
are the only riches worth having—the riches of content!”

[Illustration: image313]

[Illustration: image318]

 The End