“But it’s all wrong, you know,” declared Dorothy, earnestly; “and, if you don’t mind, I shall call you ‘Billina.’ Putting the ‘eena’ on the end makes it a girl’s name, you see.”
“Oh, I don’t mind it in the least,” returned the yellow hen. “It doesn’t matter at all what you call me, so long as I know the name means ME.”
“Very well, Billina. MY name is Dorothy Gale – just Dorothy to my friends and Miss Gale to strangers. You may call me Dorothy, if you like. We’re getting very near the shore. Do you suppose it is too deep for me to wade the rest of the way?”
“Wait a few minutes longer. The sunshine is warm and pleasant, and we are in no hurry.”
“But my feet are all wet and soggy,” said the girl. “My dress is dry enough, but I won’t feel real comfor’ble till I get my feet dried.”
She waited, however, as the hen advised, and before long the big wooden coop grated gently on the sandy beach and the dangerous voyage was over.
It did not take the castaways long to reach the shore, you may be sure. The yellow hen flew to the sands at once, but Dorothy had to climb over the high slats. Still, for a country girl, that was not much of a feat, and as soon as she was safe ashore Dorothy drew off her wet shoes and stockings and spread them upon the sun-warmed beach to dry.
Then she sat down and watched Billina, who was pick-pecking away with her sharp bill in the sand and gravel, which she scratched up and turned over with her strong claws.
“What are you doing?” asked Dorothy.
“Getting my breakfast, of course,” murmured the hen, busily pecking away.
“What do you find?” inquired the girl, curiously.
“Oh, some fat red ants, and some sand-bugs, and once in a while a tiny crab. They are very sweet and nice, I assure you.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Dorothy, in a shocked voice.
“What is dreadful?” asked the hen, lifting her head to gaze with one bright eye at her companion.
“Why, eating live things, and horrid bugs, and crawly ants. You ought to be ’SHAMED of yourself!”
“Goodness me!” returned the hen, in a puzzled tone; “how queer you are, Dorothy! Live things are much fresher and more wholesome than dead ones, and you humans eat all sorts of dead creatures.”
“We don’t!” said Dorothy.
“You do, indeed,” answered Billina. “You eat lambs and sheep and cows and pigs and even chickens.”
“But we cook ’em,” said Dorothy, triumphantly.
“What difference does that make?”
“A good deal,” said the girl, in a graver tone. “I can’t just ’splain the diff’rence, but it’s there. And, anyhow, we never eat such dreadful things as BUGS.”
“But you eat the chickens that eat the bugs,” retorted the yellow hen, with an odd cackle. “So you are just as bad as we chickens are.”
This made Dorothy thoughtful. What Billina said was true enough, and it almost took away her appetite for breakfast. As for the yellow hen, she continued to peck away at the sand busily, and seemed quite contented with her bill-of-fare.
Finally, down near the water’s edge, Billina stuck her bill deep into the sand, and then drew back and shivered.
“Ow!” she cried. “I struck metal, that time, and it nearly broke my beak.”
“It prob’bly was a rock,” said Dorothy, carelessly.
“Nonsense. I know a rock from metal, I guess,” said the hen. “There’s a different feel to it.”
“But there couldn’t be any metal on this wild, deserted seashore,” persisted the girl. “Where’s the place? I’ll dig it up, and prove to you I’m right,”
Billina showed her the place where she had “stubbed her bill,” as she expressed it, and Dorothy dug away the sand until she felt something hard. Then, thrusting in her hand, she pulled the thing out, and discovered it to be a large sized golden key – rather old, but still bright and of perfect shape.
“What did I tell you?” cried the hen, with a cackle of triumph. “Can I tell metal when I bump into it, or is the thing a rock?”
“It’s metal, sure enough,” answered the child, gazing thoughtfully at the curious thing she had found. “I think it is pure gold, and it must have lain hidden in the sand for a long time. How do you suppose it came there, Billina? And what do you suppose this mysterious key unlocks?”
“I can’t say,” replied the hen. “You ought to know more about locks and keys than I do.”
Dorothy glanced around. There was no sign of any house in that part of the country, and she reasoned that every key must fit a lock and every lock must have a purpose. Perhaps the key had been lost by somebody who lived far away, but had wandered on this very shore.
Musing on these things the girl put the key in the pocket of her dress and then slowly drew on her shoes and stockings, which the sun had fully dried.
“I b’lieve, Billina,” she said, “I’ll have a look ’round, and see if I can find some breakfast.”
3. Letters in the Sand
Walking a little way back from the water’s edge, toward the grove of trees, Dorothy came to a flat stretch of white sand that seemed to have queer signs marked upon its surface, just as one would write upon sand with a stick.
“What does it say?” she asked the yellow hen, who trotted along beside her in a rather dignified fashion.
“How should I know?” returned the hen. “I cannot read.”
“Oh! Can’t you?”
“Certainly not; I’ve never been to school, you know.”
“Well, I have,” admitted Dorothy; “but the letters are big and far apart, and it’s hard to spell out the words.”
But she looked at each letter carefully, and finally discovered that these words were written in the sand:
“BEWARE THE WHEELERS!”
“That’s rather strange,” declared the hen, when Dorothy had read aloud the words. “What do you suppose the Wheelers are?”
“Folks that wheel, I guess. They must have wheelbarrows, or baby-cabs or hand-carts,” said Dorothy.
“Perhaps they’re automobiles,” suggested the yellow hen. “There is no need to beware of baby-cabs and wheelbarrows; but automobiles are dangerous things. Several of my friends have been run over by them.”
“It can’t be auto’biles,” replied the girl, “for this is a new, wild country, without even trolley-cars or tel’phones. The people here haven’t been discovered yet, I’m sure; that is, if there ARE any people. So I don’t b’lieve there CAN be any auto’biles, Billina.”
“Perhaps not,” admitted the yellow hen. “Where are you going now?”
“Over to those trees, to see if I can find some fruit or nuts,” answered Dorothy.
She tramped across the sand, skirting the foot of one of the little rocky hills that stood near, and soon reached the edge of the forest.
At first she was greatly disappointed, because the nearer trees were all punita, or cotton-wood or eucalyptus, and bore no fruit or nuts at all. But, bye and bye, when she was almost in despair, the little girl came upon two trees that promised to furnish her with plenty of food.
One was quite full of square paper boxes, which grew in clusters on all the limbs, and upon the biggest and ripest boxes the word “Lunch” could be read, in neat raised letters. This tree seemed to bear all the year around, for there were lunch-box blossoms on some of the branches, and on others tiny little lunch-boxes that were as yet quite green, and evidently not fit to eat until they had grown bigger.
The leaves of this tree were all paper napkins, and it presented a very pleasing appearance to the hungry little girl.
But the tree next to the lunch-box tree was even more wonderful, for it bore quantities of tin dinner-pails, which were so full and heavy that the stout branches bent underneath their weight. Some were small and dark-brown in color; those larger were of a dull tin color; but the really ripe ones were pails of bright tin that shone and glistened beautifully in the rays of sunshine
that touched them.
Dorothy was delighted, and even the yellow hen acknowledged that she was surprised.
The little girl stood on tip-toe and picked one of the nicest and biggest lunch-boxes, and then she sat down upon the ground and eagerly opened it. Inside she found, nicely wrapped in white papers, a ham sandwich, a piece of sponge-cake, a pickle, a slice of new cheese and an apple. Each thing had a separate stem, and so had to be picked off the side of the box; but Dorothy found them all to be delicious, and she ate every bit of luncheon in the box before she had finished.
“A lunch isn’t zactly breakfast,” she said to Billina, who sat beside her curiously watching. “But when one is hungry one can eat even supper in the morning, and not complain.”
“I hope your lunch-box was perfectly ripe,” observed the yellow hen, in a anxious tone. “So much sickness is caused by eating green things.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was ripe,” declared Dorothy, “all, that is, ’cept the pickle, and a pickle just HAS to be green, Billina. But everything tasted perfectly splendid, and I’d rather have it than a church picnic. And now I think I’ll pick a dinner-pail, to have when I get hungry again, and then we’ll start out and ’splore the country, and see where we are.”
“Haven’t you any idea what country this is?” inquired Billina.
“None at all. But listen: I’m quite sure it’s a fairy country, or such things as lunch-boxes and dinner-pails wouldn’t be growing upon trees. Besides, Billina, being a hen, you wouldn’t be able to talk in any civ’lized country, like Kansas, where no fairies live at all.”
“Perhaps we’re in the Land of Oz,” said the hen, thoughtfully.
“No, that can’t be,” answered the little girl; because I’ve been to the Land of Oz, and it’s all surrounded by a horrid desert that no one can cross.”
“Then how did you get away from there again?” asked Billina.
“I had a pair of silver shoes, that carried me through the air; but I lost them,” said Dorothy.
“Ah, indeed,” remarked the yellow hen, in a tone of unbelief.
“Anyhow,” resumed the girl, “there is no seashore near the Land of Oz, so this must surely be some other fairy country.”
While she was speaking she selected a bright and pretty dinner-pail that seemed to have a stout handle, and picked it from its branch. Then, accompanied by the yellow hen, she walked out of the shadow of the trees toward the sea-shore.
They were part way across the sands when Billina suddenly cried, in a voice of terror:
“What’s that?”
Dorothy turned quickly around, and saw coming out of a path that led from between the trees the most peculiar person her eyes had ever beheld.
It had the form of a man, except that it walked, or rather rolled, upon all fours, and its legs were the same length as its arms, giving them the appearance of the four legs of a beast. Yet it was no beast that Dorothy had discovered, for the person was clothed most gorgeously in embroidered garments of many colors, and wore a straw hat perched jauntily upon the side of its head. But it differed from human beings in this respect, that instead of hands and feet there grew at the end of its arms and legs round wheels, and by means of these wheels it rolled very swiftly over the level ground. Afterward Dorothy found that these odd wheels were of the same hard substance that our finger-nails and toe-nails are composed of, and she also learned that creatures of this strange race were born in this queer fashion. But when our little girl first caught sight of the first individual of a race that was destined to cause her a lot of trouble, she had an idea that the brilliantly-clothed personage was on roller-skates, which were attached to his hands as well as to his feet.
“Run!” screamed the yellow hen, fluttering away in great fright. “It’s a Wheeler!”
“A Wheeler?” exclaimed Dorothy. “What can that be?”
“Don’t you remember the warning in the sand: ‘Beware the Wheelers’? Run, I tell you – run!”
So Dorothy ran, and the Wheeler gave a sharp, wild cry and came after her in full chase.
Looking over her shoulder as she ran, the girl now saw a great procession of Wheelers emerging from the forest – dozens and dozens of them – all clad in splendid, tight-fitting garments and all rolling swiftly toward her and uttering their wild, strange cries.
“They’re sure to catch us!” panted the girl, who was still carrying the heavy dinner-pail she had picked. “I can’t run much farther, Billina.”
“Climb up this hill, – quick!” said the hen; and Dorothy found she was very near to the heap of loose and jagged rocks they had passed on their way to the forest. The yellow hen was even now fluttering among the rocks, and Dorothy followed as best she could, half climbing and half tumbling up the rough and rugged steep.
She was none too soon, for the foremost Wheeler reached the hill a moment after her; but while the girl scrambled up the rocks the creature stopped short with howls of rage and disappointment.
Dorothy now heard the yellow hen laughing, in her cackling, henny way.
“Don’t hurry, my dear,” cried Billina. “They can’t follow us among these rocks, so we’re safe enough now.”
Dorothy stopped at once and sat down upon a broad boulder, for she was all out of breath.
The rest of the Wheelers had now reached the foot of the hill, but it was evident that their wheels would not roll upon the rough and jagged rocks, and therefore they were helpless to follow Dorothy and the hen to where they had taken refuge. But they circled all around the little hill, so the child and Billina were fast prisoners and could not come down without being captured.
Then the creatures shook their front wheels at Dorothy in a threatening manner, and it seemed they were able to speak as well as to make their dreadful outcries, for several of them shouted:
“We’ll get you in time, never fear! And when we do get you, we’ll tear you into little bits!”
“Why are you so cruel to me?” asked Dorothy. “I’m a stranger in your country, and have done you no harm.”
“No harm!” cried one who seemed to be their leader. “Did you not pick our lunch-boxes and dinner-pails? Have you not a stolen dinner-pail still in your hand?”
“I only picked one of each,” she answered. “I was hungry, and I didn’t know the trees were yours.”
“That is no excuse,” retorted the leader, who was clothed in a most gorgeous suit. “It is the law here that whoever picks a dinner-pail without our permission must die immediately.”
“Don’t you believe him,” said Billina. “I’m sure the trees do not belong to these awful creatures. They are fit for any mischief, and it’s my opinion they would try to kill us just the same if you hadn’t picked a dinner-pail.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Dorothy. “But what shall we do now?”
“Stay where we are,” advised the yellow hen. “We are safe from the Wheelers until we starve to death, anyhow; and before that time comes a good many things can happen.”
4. Tiktok the Machine Man
After an hour or so most of the band of Wheelers rolled back into the forest, leaving only three of their number to guard the hill. These curled themselves up like big dogs and pretended to go to sleep on the sands; but neither Dorothy nor Billina were fooled by this trick, so they remained in security among the rocks and paid no attention to their cunning enemies.
Finally the hen, fluttering over the mound, exclaimed: “Why, here’s a path!”
So Dorothy at once clambered to where Billina sat, and there, sure enough, was a smooth path cut between the rocks. It seemed to wind around the mound from top to bottom, like a cork-screw, twisting here and there between the rough boulders but always remaining level and easy to walk upon.
Indeed, Dorothy wondered at first why the Wheelers did not roll up this path; but when she followed it to the foot of the mound she found that several big pieces of rock had been placed directly across the end of the way, thus preventing any one outside from seeing it an
d also preventing the Wheelers from using it to climb up the mound.
Then Dorothy walked back up the path, and followed it until she came to the very top of the hill, where a solitary round rock stood that was bigger than any of the others surrounding it. The path came to an end just beside this great rock, and for a moment it puzzled the girl to know why the path had been made at all. But the hen, who had been gravely following her around and was now perched upon a point of rock behind Dorothy, suddenly remarked:
“It looks something like a door, doesn’t it?”
“What looks like a door?” enquired the child.
“Why, that crack in the rock, just facing you,” replied Billina, whose little round eyes were very sharp and seemed to see everything. “It runs up one side and down the other, and across the top and the bottom.”
“What does?”
“Why, the crack. So I think it must be a door of rock, although I do not see any hinges.”
“Oh, yes,” said Dorothy, now observing for the first time the crack in the rock. “And isn’t this a key-hole, Billina?” pointing to a round, deep hole at one side of the door.
“Of course. If we only had the key, now, we could unlock it and see what is there,” replied the yellow hen. “May be it’s a treasure chamber full of diamonds and rubies, or heaps of shining gold, or – ”
“That reminds me,” said Dorothy, “of the golden key I picked up on the shore. Do you think that it would fit this key-hole, Billina?”
“Try it and see,” suggested the hen.
So Dorothy searched in the pocket of her dress and found the golden key. And when she had put it into the hole of the rock, and turned it, a sudden sharp snap was heard; then, with a solemn creak that made the shivers run down the child’s back, the face of the rock fell outward, like a door on hinges, and revealed a small dark chamber just inside.
“Good gracious!” cried Dorothy, shrinking back as far as the narrow path would let her.
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