Oz, The Complete Collection

by L. Frank Baum

  “Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see.”

  The Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.

  “Send that beast away and I will,” she said.

  “Beast! Why, that’s my dog Toto, an’ he’s the kindest dog in all the world. Toto knows a good many things, too; ’most as much as I do, I guess.”

  “Why doesn’t he say anything?” asked Bungle.

  “He can’t talk, not being a fairy dog,” explained Dorothy. “He’s just a common United States dog; but that’s a good deal; and I understand him, and he understands me, just as well as if he could talk.”

  Toto, at this, got up and rubbed his head softly against Dorothy’s hand, which she held out to him, and he looked up into her face as if he had understood every word she had said.

  “This cat, Toto,” she said to him, “is made of glass, so you mustn’t bother it, or chase it, any more than you do my Pink Kitten. It’s prob’ly brittle and might break if it bumped against anything.”

  “Woof!” said Toto, and that meant he understood.

  The Glass Cat was so proud of her pink brains that she ventured to come close to Dorothy, in order that the girl might “see ’em work.” This was really interesting, but when Dorothy patted the cat she found the glass cold and hard and unresponsive, so she decided at once that Bungle would never do for a pet.

  “What do you know about the Crooked Magician who lives on the mountain?” asked Dorothy.

  “He made me,” replied the cat; “so I know all about him. The Patchwork Girl is new—three or four days old—but I’ve lived with Dr. Pipt for years; and, though I don’t much care for him, I will say that he has always refused to work magic for any of the people who come to his house. He thinks there’s no harm in doing magic things for his own family, and he made me out of glass because the meat cats drink too much milk. He also made Scraps come to life so she could do the housework for his wife Margolotte.”

  “Then why did you both leave him?” asked Dorothy.

  “I think you’d better let me explain that,” interrupted the Shaggy Man, and then he told Dorothy all of Ojo’s story and how Unc Nunkie and Margolotte had accidentally been turned to marble by the Liquid of Petrifaction. Then he related how the boy had started out in search of the things needed to make the magic charm, which would restore the unfortunates to life, and how he had found the Woozy and taken him along because he could not pull the three hairs out of its tail. Dorothy listened to all this with much interest, and thought that so far Ojo had acted very well. But when the Shaggy Man told her of the Munchkin boy’s arrest by the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, because he was accused of wilfully breaking a Law of Oz, the little girl was greatly shocked.

  “What do you s’pose he’s done?” she asked.

  “I fear he has picked a six-leaved clover,” answered the Shaggy Man, sadly. “I did not see him do it, and I warned him that to do so was against the Law; but perhaps that is what he did, nevertheless.”

  “I’m sorry ’bout that,” said Dorothy gravely, “for now there will be no one to help his poor uncle and Margolotte ’cept this Patchwork Girl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Scraps. “That’s no affair of mine. Margolotte and Unc Nunkie are perfect strangers to me, for the moment I came to life they came to marble.”

  “I see,” remarked Dorothy with a sigh of regret; “the woman forgot to give you a heart.”

  “I’m glad she did,” retorted the Patchwork Girl. “A heart must be a great annoyance to one. It makes a person feel sad or sorry or devoted or sympathetic—all of which sensations interfere with one’s happiness.”

  “I have a heart,” murmured the Glass Cat. “It’s made of a ruby; but I don’t imagine I shall let it bother me about helping Unc Nunkie and Margolotte.”

  “That’s a pretty hard heart of yours,” said Dorothy. “And the Woozy, of course—”

  “Why, as for me,” observed the Woozy, who was reclining on the floor with his legs doubled under him, so that he looked much like a square box, “I have never seen those unfortunate people you are speaking of, and yet I am sorry for them, having at times been unfortunate myself. When I was shut up in that forest I longed for some one to help me, and by and by Ojo came and did help me. So I’m willing to help his uncle. I’m only a stupid beast, Dorothy, but I can’t help that, and if you’ll tell me what to do to help Ojo and his uncle, I’ll gladly do it.”

  Dorothy walked over and patted the Woozy on his square head.

  “You’re not pretty,” she said, “but I like you. What are you able to do; anything ’special?”

  “I can make my eyes flash fire—real fire—when I’m angry. When anyone says ‘Krizzle-Kroo’ to me I get angry, and then my eyes flash fire.”

  “I don’t see as fireworks could help Ojo’s uncle,” remarked Dorothy. “Can you do anything else?”

  “I—I thought I had a very terrifying growl,” said the Woozy, with hesitation; “but perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “Yes,” said the Shaggy Man, “you were certainly wrong about that.” Then he turned to Dorothy and added: “What will become of the Munchkin boy?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head thoughtfully. “Ozma will see him ’bout it, of course, and then she’ll punish him. But how, I don’t know, ’cause no one ever has been punished in Oz since I knew anything about the place. Too bad, Shaggy Man, isn’t it?”

  While they were talking Scraps had been roaming around the room and looking at all the pretty things it contained. She had carried Ojo’s basket in her hand, until now, when she decided to see what was inside it. She found the bread and cheese, which she had no use for, and the bundle of charms, which were curious but quite a mystery to her. Then, turning these over, she came upon the six-leaved clover which the boy had plucked.

  Scraps was quick-witted, and although she had no heart she recognized the fact that Ojo was her first friend. She knew at once that because the boy had taken the clover he had been imprisoned, and she understood that Ojo had given her the basket so they would not find the clover in his possession and have proof of his crime. So, turning her head to see that no one noticed her, she took the clover from the basket and dropped it into a golden vase that stood on Dorothy’s table. Then she came forward and said to Dorothy:

  “I wouldn’t care to help Ojo’s uncle, but I will help Ojo. He did not break the Law—no one can prove he did—and that green-whiskered Soldier had no right to arrest him.”

  “Ozma ordered the boy’s arrest,” said Dorothy, “and of course she knew what she was doing. But if you can prove Ojo is innocent they will set him free at once.”

  “They’ll have to prove him guilty, won’t they?” asked Scraps.

  “I s’pose so.”

  “Well, they can’t do that,” declared the Patchwork Girl.

  As it was nearly time for Dorothy to dine with Ozma, which she did every evening, she rang for a servant and ordered the Woozy taken to a nice room and given plenty of such food as he liked best.

  “That’s honey-bees,” said the Woozy.

  “You can’t eat honey-bees, but you’ll be given something just as nice,” Dorothy told him. Then she had the Glass Cat taken to another room for the night and the Patchwork Girl she kept in one of her own rooms, for she was much interested in the strange creature and wanted to talk with her again and try to understand her better.

  Chapter 17

  OZMA and HER FRIENDS

  he Shaggy Man had a room of his own in the royal palace, so there he went to change his shaggy suit of clothes for another just as shaggy but not so dusty from travel. He selected a costume of pea-green and pink satin and velvet, with embroidered shags on all the edges and iridescent pearls for ornaments. Then he bathed in an alabaster pool and brushed his shaggy hair and whiskers the wrong way to make them still more shaggy. This accomplished, and arrayed in his splendid shaggy garments, he went to Ozma’s banquet hall and found the Scarecrow, the Wiza
rd and Dorothy already assembled there. The Scarecrow had made a quick trip and returned to the Emerald City with his left ear freshly painted.

  A moment later, while they all stood in waiting, a servant threw open a door, the orchestra struck up a tune and Ozma of Oz entered.

  Much has been told and written concerning the beauty of person and character of this sweet girl Ruler of the Land of Oz—the richest, the happiest and most delightful fairyland of which we have any knowledge. Yet with all her queenly qualities Ozma was a real girl and enjoyed the things in life that other real girls enjoy. When she sat on her splendid emerald throne in the great Throne Room of her palace and made Laws and settled disputes and tried to keep all her subjects happy and contented, she was as dignified and demure as any Queen might be; but when she had thrown aside her jeweled robe of state and her sceptre, and had retired to her private apartments, the girl—joyous, light-hearted and free—replaced the sedate Ruler.

  In the banquet hall to-night were gathered only old and trusted friends, so here Ozma was herself—a mere girl. She greeted Dorothy with a kiss, the Shaggy Man with a smile, the little old Wizard with a friendly handshake and then she pressed the Scarecrow’s stuffed arm and cried merrily:

  “What a lovely left ear! Why, it’s a hundred times better than the old one.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” replied the Scarecrow, well pleased. “Jinjur did a neat job, didn’t she? And my hearing is now perfect. Isn’t it wonderful what a little paint will do, if it’s properly applied?”

  “It really is wonderful,” she agreed, as they all took their seats; “but the Sawhorse must have made his legs twinkle to have carried you so far in one day. I didn’t expect you back before to-morrow, at the earliest.”

  “Well,” said the Scarecrow, “I met a charming girl on the road and wanted to see more of her, so I hurried back.”

  Ozma laughed.

  “I know,” she returned; “it’s the Patchwork Girl. She is certainly bewildering, if not strictly beautiful.”

  “Have you seen her, then?” the straw man eagerly asked.

  “Only in my Magic Picture, which shows me all scenes of interest in the Land of Oz.”

  “I fear the picture didn’t do her justice,” said the Scarecrow.

  “It seemed to me that nothing could be more gorgeous,” declared Ozma. “Whoever made that patchwork quilt, from which Scraps was formed, must have selected the gayest and brightest bits of cloth that ever were woven.”

  “I am glad you like her,” said the Scarecrow in a satisfied tone. Although the straw man did not eat, not being made so he could, he often dined with Ozma and her companions, merely for the pleasure of talking with them. He sat at the table and had a napkin and plate, but the servants knew better than to offer him food. After a little while he asked: “Where is the Patchwork Girl now?”

  “In my room,” replied Dorothy. “I’ve taken a fancy to her; she’s so queer and—and—uncommon.”

  “She’s half crazy, I think,” added the Shaggy Man.

  “But she is so beautiful!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as if that fact disarmed all criticism. They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the Scarecrow was quite serious. Seeing that he was interested in Scraps they forbore to say anything against her. The little band of friends Ozma had gathered around her was so quaintly assorted that much care must be exercised to avoid hurting their feelings or making any one of them unhappy. It was this considerate kindness that held them close friends and enabled them to enjoy one another’s society.

  Another thing they avoided was conversing on unpleasant subjects, and for that reason Ojo and his troubles were not mentioned during the dinner. The Shaggy Man, however, related his adventures with the monstrous plants which had seized and enfolded the travelers, and told how he had robbed Chiss, the giant porcupine, of the quills which it was accustomed to throw at people. Both Dorothy and Ozma were pleased with this exploit and thought it served Chiss right.

  Then they talked of the Woozy, which was the most remarkable animal any of them had ever before seen—except, perhaps, the live Sawhorse. Ozma had never known that her dominions contained such a thing as a Woozy, there being but one in existence and this being confined in his forest for many years. Dorothy said she believed the Woozy was a good beast, honest and faithful; but she added that she did not care much for the Glass Cat.

  “Still,” said the Shaggy Man, “the Glass Cat is very pretty and if she were not so conceited over her pink brains no one would object to her as a companion.”

  The Wizard had been eating silently until now, when he looked up and remarked:

  “That Powder of Life which is made by the Crooked Magician is really a wonderful thing. But Dr. Pipt does not know its true value and he uses it in the most foolish ways.”

  “I must see about that,” said Ozma, gravely. Then she smiled again and continued in a lighter tone: “It was Dr. Pipt’s famous Powder of Life that enabled me to become the Ruler of Oz.”

  “I’ve never heard that story,” said the Shaggy Man, looking at Ozma questioningly.

  “Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an old Witch named Mombi and transformed into a boy,” began the girl Ruler. “I did not know who I was and when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made me wait upon her and carry wood for the fire and hoe in the garden. One day she came back from a journey bringing some of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt had given her. I had made a pumpkinheaded man and set it up in her path to frighten her, for I was fond of fun and hated the Witch. But she knew what the figure was and to test her Powder of Life she sprinkled some of it on the man I had made. It came to life and is now our dear friend Jack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away with Jack to escape punishment, and I took old Mombi’s Powder of Life with me. During our journey we came upon a Wooden Sawhorse standing by the road and I used the magic powder to bring it to life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever since. When I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress, Glinda, knew who I was and restored me to my proper person, when I became the rightful Ruler of this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought home the Powder of Life I might never have run away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor would we have had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to comfort and amuse us.”

  That story interested the Shaggy Man very much, as well as the others, who had often heard it before. The dinner being now concluded, they all went to Ozma’s drawing-room, where they passed a pleasant evening before it came time to retire.

  Chapter 18

  OJO Is FORGIVEN

  he next morning the Soldier with the Green Whiskers went to the prison and took Ojo away to the royal palace, where he was summoned to appear before the girl Ruler for judgment. Again the Soldier put upon the boy the jeweled handcuffs and white prisoner’s robe with the peaked top and holes for the eyes. Ojo was so ashamed, both of his disgrace and the fault he had committed, that he was glad to be covered up in this way, so that people could not see him or know who he was. He followed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers very willingly, anxious that his fate might be decided as soon as possible.

  The inhabitants of the Emerald City were polite people and never jeered at the unfortunate; but it was so long since they had seen a prisoner that they cast many curious looks toward the boy and many of them hurried away to the royal palace to be present during the trial.

  When Ojo was escorted into the great Throne Room of the palace he found hundreds of people assembled there. In the magnificent emerald throne, which sparkled with countless jewels, sat Ozma of Oz in her Robe of State, which was embroidered with emeralds and pearls. On her right, but a little lower, was Dorothy, and on her left the Scarecrow. Still lower, but nearly in front of Ozma, sat the wonderful Wizard of Oz and on a small table beside him was the golden vase from Dorothy’s room, into which Scraps had dropped the stolen clover.

  At Ozma’s feet crouched two enormous beasts, each the largest and most powerful of its kind. Although these beasts were quite free, no one present was alar
med by them; for the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger were well known and respected in the Emerald City and they always guarded the Ruler when she held high court in the Throne Room. There was still another beast present, but this one Dorothy held in her arms, for it was her constant companion, the little dog Toto. Toto knew the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger and often played and romped with them, for they were good friends.

  Seated on ivory chairs before Ozma, with a clear space between them and the throne, were many of the nobility of the Emerald City, lords and ladies in beautiful costumes, and officials of the kingdom in the royal uniforms of Oz. Behind these courtiers were others of less importance, filling the great hall to the very doors.

  At the same moment that the Soldier with the Green Whiskers arrived with Ojo, the Shaggy Man entered from a side door, escorting the Patchwork Girl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat. All these came to the vacant space before the throne and stood facing the Ruler.

  “Hullo, Ojo,” said Scraps; “how are you?”

  “All right,” he replied; but the scene awed the boy and his voice trembled a little with fear. Nothing could awe the Patchwork Girl, and although the Woozy was somewhat uneasy in these splendid surroundings the Glass Cat was delighted with the sumptuousness of the court and the impressiveness of the occasion—pretty big words but quite expressive.

  At a sign from Ozma the Soldier removed Ojo’s white robe and the boy stood face to face with the girl who was to decide his punishment. He saw at a glance how lovely and sweet she was, and his heart gave a bound of joy, for he hoped she would be merciful.

  Ozma sat looking at the prisoner a long time. Then she said gently:

  “One of the Laws of Oz forbids anyone to pick a six-leaved clover. You are accused of having broken this Law, even after you had been warned not to do so.”

  Ojo hung his head and while he hesitated how to reply the Patchwork Girl stepped forward and spoke for him.