Oz, The Complete Collection

by L. Frank Baum

  “The Tin Woodman is very kind-hearted,” was the reply, “and he hates to see any living thing hurt in any way.”

  “Are flowers alive?” asked Scraps.

  “Yes, of course. And these flowers belong to the Tin Woodman. So, in order not to offend him, we must not tread on a single blossom.”

  “Once,” said Dorothy, “the Tin Woodman stepped on a beetle and killed the little creature. That made him very unhappy and he cried until his tears rusted his joints, so he couldn’t move ’em.”

  “What did he do then?” asked Ojo.

  “Put oil on them, until the joints worked smooth again.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed the boy, as if a great discovery had flashed across his mind. But he did not tell anybody what the discovery was and kept the idea to himself.

  It was a long walk, but a pleasant one, and they did not mind it a bit. Late in the afternoon they drew near to the wonderful tin castle of the Emperor of the Winkies, and Ojo and Scraps, who had never seen it before, were filled with amazement.

  Tin abounded in the Winkie Country and the Winkies were said to be the most skillful tinsmiths in all the world. So the Tin Woodman had employed them in building his magnificent castle, which was all of tin, from the ground to the tallest turret, and so brightly polished that it glittered in the sun’s rays more gorgeously than silver. Around the grounds of the castle ran a tin wall, with tin gates; but the gates stood wide open because the Emperor had no enemies to disturb him.

  When they entered the spacious grounds our travelers found more to admire. Tin fountains sent sprays of clear water far into the air and there were many beds of tin flowers, all as perfectly formed as any natural flowers might be. There were tin trees, too, and here and there shady bowers of tin, with tin benches and chairs to sit upon. Also, on the sides of the pathway leading up to the front door of the castle, were rows of tin statuary, very cleverly executed. Among these Ojo recognized statues of Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, the Shaggy Man, Jack Pumpkinhead and Ozma, all standing upon neat pedestals of tin.

  Toto was well acquainted with the residence of the Tin Woodman and, being assured a joyful welcome, he ran ahead and barked so loudly at the front door that the Tin Woodman heard him and came out in person to see if it were really his old friend Toto. Next moment the tin man had clasped the Scarecrow in a warm embrace and then turned to hug Dorothy. But now his eye was arrested by the strange sight of the Patchwork Girl, and he gazed upon her in mingled wonder and admiration.

  Chapter 27

  The TIN WOODMAN OBJECTS

  he Tin Woodman was one of the most important personages in all Oz. Though Emperor of the Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all the land, and the girl and the tin man were warm personal friends. He was something of a dandy and kept his tin body brilliantly polished and his tin joints well oiled. Also he was very courteous in manner and so kind and gentle that everyone loved him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and Scraps with cordial hospitality and ushered the entire party into his handsome tin parlor, where all the furniture and pictures were made of tin. The walls were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling hung tin chandeliers.

  The Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of all, where Dorothy had found the Patchwork Girl, so between them the visitors told the story of how Scraps was made, as well as the accident to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie and how Ojo had set out upon a journey to procure the things needed for the Crooked Magician’s magic charm. Then Dorothy told of their adventures in the Quadling Country and how at last they succeeded in getting the water from a dark well.

  While the little girl was relating these adventures the Tin Woodman sat in an easy chair listening with intense interest, while the others sat grouped around him. Ojo, however, had kept his eyes fixed upon the body of the tin Emperor, and now he noticed that under the joint of his left knee a tiny drop of oil was forming. He watched this drop of oil with a fast-beating heart, and feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of crystal, which he held secreted in his hand.

  Presently the Tin Woodman changed his position, and at once Ojo, to the astonishment of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal vial under the Emperor’s knee joint. Just then the drop of oil fell, and the boy caught it in his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then, with a red face and embarrassed manner, he rose to confront the others.

  “What in the world were you doing?” asked the Tin Woodman.

  “I caught a drop of oil that fell from your knee-joint,” confessed Ojo.

  “A drop of oil!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “Dear me, how careless my valet must have been in oiling me this morning. I’m afraid I shall have to scold the fellow, for I can’t be dropping oil wherever I go.”

  “Never mind,” said Dorothy. “Ojo seems glad to have the oil, for some reason.”

  “Yes,” declared the Munchkin boy, “I am glad. For one of the things the Crooked Magician sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man’s body. I had no idea, at first, that there was such a thing; but it’s now safe in the little crystal vial.”

  “You are very welcome to it, indeed,” said the Tin Woodman. “Have you now secured all the things you were in search of?”

  “Not quite all,” answered Ojo. “There were five things I had to get, and I have found four of them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a Woozy’s tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water from a dark well and a drop of oil from a live man’s body. The last thing is the easiest of all to get, and I’m sure that my dear Unc Nunkie—and good Margolotte, as well—will soon be restored to life.”

  The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and pleasure.

  “Good!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “I congratulate you. But what is the fifth and last thing you need, in order to complete the magic charm?”

  “The left wing of a yellow butterfly,” said Ojo. “In this yellow country, and with your kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to find.”

  The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.

  “Surely you are joking!” he said.

  “No,” replied Ojo, much surprised; “I am in earnest.”

  “But do you think for a moment that I would permit you, or anyone else, to pull the left wing from a yellow butterfly?” demanded the Tin Woodman sternly.

  “Why not, sir?”

  “Why not? You ask me why not? It would be cruel—one of the most cruel and heartless deeds I ever heard of,” asserted the Tin Woodman. “The butterflies are among the prettiest of all created things, and they are very sensitive to pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it exquisite torture and it would soon die in great agony. I would not permit such a wicked deed under any circumstances!”

  Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too, looked grave and disconcerted, but she knew in her heart that the Tin Woodman was right. The Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his friend’s speech, so it was evident that he agreed with the Emperor’s decision. Scraps looked from one to another in perplexity.

  “Who cares for a butterfly?” she asked.

  “Don’t you?” inquired the Tin Woodman.

  “Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart,” said the Patchwork Girl. “But I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle whom he loves, and I’d kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him to do that.”

  The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.

  “You have kind instincts,” he said, “and with a heart you would indeed be a fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you cannot understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for instance, have a very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful Wizard of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never—never—never permit a poor yellow butterfly to be tortured by anyone.”

  “The yellow country of the Winkies,” said Ojo sadly, “is the only place in Oz where a yellow butterfly can be found.”

  “I’m glad of that,” said the Tin Woodman. “As I rule the Winkie Country, I can protect my butterflies.”<
br />
  “Unless I get the wing—just one left wing—” said Ojo miserably, “I can’t save Unc Nunkie.”

  “Then he must remain a marble statue forever,” declared the Tin Emperor, firmly.

  Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back the tears.

  “I’ll tell you what to do,” said Scraps. “We’ll take a whole yellow butterfly, alive and well, to the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the left wing off.”

  “No, you won’t,” said the Tin Woodman. “You can’t have one of my dear little butterflies to treat in that way.”

  “Then what in the world shall we do?” asked Dorothy.

  They all became silent and thoughtful. No one spoke for a long time. Then the Tin Woodman suddenly roused himself and said:

  “We must all go back to the Emerald City and ask Ozma’s advice. She’s a wise little girl, our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo save his Unc Nunkie.”

  So the following morning the party started on the journey to the Emerald City, which they reached in due time without any important adventure. It was a sad journey for Ojo, for without the wing of the yellow butterfly he saw no way to save Unc Nunkie—unless he waited six years for the Crooked Magician to make a new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was utterly discouraged, and as he walked along he groaned aloud.

  “Is anything hurting you?” inquired the Tin Woodman in a kindly tone, for the Emperor was with the party.

  “I’m Ojo the Unlucky,” replied the boy. “I might have known I would fail in anything I tried to do.”

  “Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?” asked the tin man.

  “Because I was born on a Friday.”

  “Friday is not unlucky,” declared the Emperor. “It’s just one of seven days. Do you suppose all the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the time?”

  “It was the thirteenth day of the month,” said Ojo.

  “Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number,” replied the Tin Woodman. “All my good luck seems to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most people never notice the good luck that comes to them with the number thirteen, and yet if the least bit of bad luck falls on that day, they blame it to the number, and not to the proper cause.”

  “Thirteen’s my lucky number, too,” remarked the Scarecrow.

  “And mine,” said Scraps. “I’ve just thirteen patches on my head.”

  “But,” continued Ojo, “I’m left-handed.”

  “Many of our greatest men are that way,” asserted the Emperor. “To be left-handed is usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people are usually one-handed.”

  “And I’ve a wart under my right arm,” said Ojo.

  “How lucky!” cried the Tin Woodman. “If it were on the end of your nose it might be unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out of the way.”

  “For all those reasons,” said the Munchkin boy, “I have been called Ojo the Unlucky.”

  “Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you henceforth Ojo the Lucky,” declared the tin man. “Every reason you have given is absurd. But I have noticed that those who continually dread ill luck and fear it will overtake them, have no time to take advantage of any good fortune that comes their way. Make up your mind to be Ojo the Lucky.”

  “How can I?” asked the boy, “when all my attempts to save my dear uncle have failed?”

  “Never give up, Ojo,” advised Dorothy. “No one ever knows what’s going to happen next.”

  Ojo did not reply, but he was so dejected that even their arrival at the Emerald City failed to interest him.

  The people joyfully cheered the appearance of the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow and Dorothy, who were all three general favorites, and on entering the royal palace word came to them from Ozma that she would at once grant them an audience.

  Dorothy told the girl Ruler how successful they had been in their quest until they came to the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin Woodman positively refused to sacrifice to the magic potion.

  “He is quite right,” said Ozma, who did not seem a bit surprised. “Had Ojo told me that one of the things he sought was the wing of a yellow butterfly I would have informed him, before he started out, that he could never secure it. Then you would have been saved the troubles and annoyances of your long journey.”

  “I didn’t mind the journey at all,” said Dorothy; “it was fun.”

  “As it has turned out,” remarked Ojo, “I can never get the things the Crooked Magician sent me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for him to make the Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie cannot be saved.”

  Ozma smiled.

  “Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life, I promise you,” said she. “I have sent for him and had him brought to this palace, where he now is, and his four kettles have been destroyed and his book of recipes burned up. I have also had brought here the marble statues of your uncle and of Margolotte, which are standing in the next room.”

  They were all greatly astonished at this announcement.

  “Oh, let me see Unc Nunkie! Let me see him at once, please!” cried Ojo eagerly.

  “Wait a moment,” replied Ozma, “for I have something more to say. Nothing that happens in the Land of Oz escapes the notice of our wise Sorceress, Glinda the Good. She knew all about the magic-making of Dr. Pipt, and how he had brought the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl to life, and the accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and of Ojo’s quest and his journey with Dorothy. Glinda also knew that Ojo would fail to find all the things he sought, so she sent for our Wizard and instructed him what to do. Something is going to happen in this palace, presently, and that ‘something’ will, I am sure, please you all. And now,” continued the girl Ruler, rising from her chair, “you may follow me into the next room.”

  Chapter 28

  The WONDERFUL WIZARD of OZ

  hen Ojo entered the room he ran quickly to the statue of Unc Nunkie and kissed the marble face affectionately.

  “I did my best, Unc,” he said, with a sob, “but it was no use!”

  Then he drew back and looked around the room, and the sight of the assembled company quite amazed him.

  Aside from the marble statues of Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, the Glass Cat was there, curled up on a rug; and the Woozy was there, sitting on its square hind legs and looking on the scene with solemn interest; and there was the Shaggy Man, in a suit of shaggy pea-green satin, and at a table sat the little Wizard, looking quite important and as if he knew much more than he cared to tell.

  Last of all, Dr. Pipt was there, and the Crooked Magician sat humped up in a chair, seeming very dejected but keeping his eyes fixed on the lifeless form of his wife Margolotte, whom he fondly loved but whom he now feared was lost to him forever.

  Ozma took a chair which Jellia Jamb wheeled forward for the Ruler, and back of her stood the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Dorothy, as well as the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Wizard now arose and made a low bow to Ozma and another less deferent bow to the assembled company.

  “Ladies and gentlemen and beasts,” he said, “I beg to announce that our Gracious Ruler has permitted me to obey the commands of the great Sorceress, Glinda the Good, whose humble Assistant I am proud to be. We have discovered that the Crooked Magician has been indulging in his magical arts contrary to Law, and therefore, by Royal Edict, I hereby deprive him of all power to work magic in the future. He is no longer a crooked magician, but a simple Munchkin; he is no longer even crooked, but a man like other men.”

  As he pronounced these words the Wizard waved his hand toward Dr. Pipt and instantly every crooked limb straightened out and became perfect. The former magician, with a cry of joy, sprang to his feet, looked at himself in wonder, and then fell back in his chair and watched the Wizard with fascinated interest.

  “The Glass Cat, which Dr. Pipt lawlessly made,” continued the Wizard, “is a pretty cat, but its pink brains made it so conceited that it was a disagreeable companion to everyone. So the other day I took away the pink brains and replac
ed them with transparent ones, and now the Glass Cat is so modest and well behaved that Ozma has decided to keep her in the palace as a pet.”

  “I thank you,” said the cat, in a soft voice.

  “The Woozy has proved himself a good Woozy and a faithful friend,” the Wizard went on, “so we will send him to the Royal Menagerie, where he will have good care and plenty to eat all his life.”

  “Much obliged,” said the Woozy. “That beats being fenced up in a lonely forest and starved.”

  “As for the Patchwork Girl,” resumed the Wizard, “she is so remarkable in appearance, and so clever and good tempered, that our Gracious Ruler intends to preserve her carefully, as one of the curiosities of the curious Land of Oz. Scraps may live in the palace, or wherever she pleases, and be nobody’s servant but her own.”

  “That’s all right,” said Scraps.

  “We have all been interested in Ojo,” the little Wizard continued, “because his love for his unfortunate uncle has led him bravely to face all sorts of dangers, in order that he might rescue him. The Munchkin boy has a loyal and generous heart and has done his best to restore Unc Nunkie to life. He has failed, but there are others more powerful than the Crooked Magician, and there are more ways than Dr. Pipt knew of to destroy the charm of the Liquid of Petrifaction. Glinda the Good has told me of one way, and you shall now learn how great is the knowledge and power of our peerless Sorceress.”

  As he said this the Wizard advanced to the statue of Margolotte and made a magic pass, at the same time muttering a magic word that none could hear distinctly. At once the woman moved, turned her head wonderingly this way and that, to note all who stood before her, and seeing Dr. Pipt, ran forward and threw herself into her husband’s outstretched arms.

  Then the Wizard made the magic pass and spoke the magic word before the statue of Unc Nunkie. The old Munchkin immediately came to life and with a low bow to the Wizard said: “Thanks.”

  But now Ojo rushed up and threw his arms joyfully about his uncle, and the old man hugged his little nephew tenderly and stroked his hair and wiped away the boy’s tears with a handkerchief, for Ojo was crying from pure happiness.