Oz, The Complete Collection

by L. Frank Baum

  Now anyone who is at all familiar with his geozify knows that the Fairyland of Oz is divided into four parts, exactly like a parchesi board, with the Emerald City in the very center, the purple Gillikin Country to the north, the red Quadling Country to the south, the blue Munchkin Country to the east, and the yellow Country of the Winkies to the west. It was toward the west that Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion turned their steps, for it was in the Winkie Country that the Scarecrow had built his gorgeous golden tower in exactly the shape of a huge ear of corn.

  Dorothy ran along beside the Cowardly Lion, chatting over their many adventures in Oz, and stopping now and then to pick buttercups and daisies that dotted the roadside. She tied a big bunch to the tip of her friend’s tail and twined some more in his mane, so that he presented a very festive appearance indeed. Then, when she grew tired, she climbed on his big back, and swiftly they jogged through the pleasant land of the Winkies. The people waved to them from windows and fields, for everyone loved little Dorothy and the big lion, and as they passed a neat yellow cottage, a little Winkie Lady came running down the path with a cup of tea in one hand and a bucket in the other.

  “I saw you coming and thought you might be thirsty,” she called hospitably. Dorothy drank her cup without alighting.

  “We’re in an awful hurry; we’re visiting the Scarecrow,” she exclaimed apologetically. The lion drank his bucket of tea at one gulp. It was so hot that it made his eyes water.

  “How I loathe tea! If I hadn’t been such a coward, I’d have upset the bucket,” groaned the lion as the little Winkie Lady went back into her house. “But no, I was afraid of hurting her feelings. Ugh, what a terrible thing it is to be a coward!”

  “Nonsense!” said Dorothy, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. “You’re not a coward, you’re just polite. But let’s run very fast so we can reach the Scarecrow’s in time for lunch.”

  So like the wind away raced the Cowardly Lion, Dorothy holding fast to his mane, with her curls blowing straight out behind, and in exactly two Oz hours and seventeen Winkie minutes they came to the dazzling corn-ear residence of their old friend. Hurrying through the cornfields that surrounded his singular mansion, Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion rushed through the open door.

  “We’ve come for lunch,” announced Dorothy.

  “And I’m hungry enough to eat crow,” rumbled the lion. Then both stopped in dismay, for the big reception room was empty. From a room above came a shuffling of feet, and Blink, the Scarecrow’s gentlemanly housekeeper, came running down the stairs.

  “Where’s the Scarecrow?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “Isn’t he here?”

  “Here! Isn’t he there? Isn’t he in the Emerald City?” gasped the little Winkie, putting his specs on upside down.

  “No—at least, I don’t think so. Oh, dear, I just felt that something had happened to him!” wailed Dorothy, sinking into an ebony armchair and fanning herself with a silk sofa cushion.

  “Now don’t be alarmed.” The Cowardly Lion rushed to Dorothy’s side and knocked three vases and a clock off a little table, just to show how calm he was. “Think of his brains! The Scarecrow has never come to harm yet, and all we have to do is to return to the Emerald City and look in Ozma’s Magic Picture. Then, when we know where he is, we can go and find him and tell him about our little adoption plan,” he added, looking hopefully at Dorothy.

  “The Scarecrow himself couldn’t have spoken more sensibly,” observed Blink with a great sigh of relief, and even Dorothy felt better.

  In Ozma’s palace, as many of you know, there is a Magic Picture, and when Ozma or Dorothy want to see any of their friends, they have merely to wish to see them, and instantly the picture shows the person wished for and exactly what he is doing at that certain time.

  “Of course!” sighed Dorothy. “Why didn’t I think of it myself?”

  “Better have some lunch before you start back,” suggested Blink, and bustling about had soon set out an appetizing repast. Dorothy was too busy worrying about the Scarecrow to have much appetite, but the Cowardly Lion swallowed seventeen roasts and a bucket of corn syrup.

  “To give me courage!” he explained to Dorothy, licking his chops. “There’s nothing that makes me so cowardly as an empty stomach!”

  It was quite late in the afternoon before they could get away. Blink insisted on putting up a lunch, and it took some time to make enough sandwiches for the Cowardly Lion. But at last it was ready and packed into an old hat box belonging to Mops, the Scarecrow’s cook. Then Dorothy, balancing the box carefully on her lap, climbed on the Cowardly Lion’s back, and assuring Blink that they would return in a few days with his master, they bade him farewell. Blink almost spoiled things by bursting into tears, but he managed to restrain himself long enough to say good-bye, and Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion, feeling a little solemn themselves, started toward the Emerald City.

  “My, but it’s growing dark,” said Dorothy after they had gone several miles. “I believe it’s going to storm.”

  Scarcely had she finished speaking before there was a terrific crash of thunder. The Cowardly Lion promptly sat down. Off of his back bounced the sandwich box and into the sandwich box rolled Dorothy, head first.

  “How terribly upsetting,” coughed the Cowardly Lion.

  “I should say it was!” Dorothy crawled indignantly out of the hat box and began wiping the butter from her nose. “You’ve simply ruined the supper!”

  “It was my heart,” explained the Cowardly Lion sorrowfully. “It jumped so hard that it upset me, but climb on my back again, and I’ll run very fast to some place of shelter.”

  “But where are you?” Dorothy asked in real alarm, for it had grown absolutely dark.

  “Here,” quavered the Cowardly Lion, and guided by his voice, Dorothy stumbled over to him and climbed again on his back. One crash of thunder followed another, and at each crash the Cowardly Lion leapt forward a bit faster until they fairly flew through the dark.

  “It won’t take us long to reach the Emerald City at this rate!” called Dorothy, but the wind tossed the words far behind her, and seeing that conversation was impossible, she clung fast to the lion’s mane and began thinking about the Scarecrow. The thunder continued at frequent intervals, but there was no rain, and after they had been running for what seemed to Dorothy hours and hours, a sudden terrific bump sent her flying over the lion’s head into a bush. Too breathless to speak, she felt herself carefully all over. Then, finding that she was still in one piece, she called to the Cowardly Lion. She could hear him moaning and muttering about his heart.

  “Any bones broken?” she asked anxiously.

  “Only my head,” groaned the lion dismally. Just then the darkness lifted as suddenly as it had fallen, and Dorothy saw him leaning against a tree with his eyes closed. There was a big bump on his head. With a little cry of sympathy, Dorothy hurried toward him, when all at once something strange about their surroundings struck her.

  “Why, where are we?” cried the little girl, stopping short. The lion’s eyes flew open, and forgetting all about his bump, he looked around in dismay. No sign of the Emerald City anywhere. Indeed, they were in a great, dim forest, and considering the number of trees, it is a wonder that they had not run into one long ago.

  “I must have run the wrong way,” faltered the Cowardly Lion in a distressed voice.

  “You couldn’t help that; anyone would lose his way in the dark,” said Dorothy generously. “But I wish we hadn’t fallen in the sandwiches. I’m hungry!”

  “So am I. Do you think anyone lives in this forest, Dorothy?”

  Dorothy did not answer, for just then she caught sight of a big sign nailed to one of the trees.

  “Turn to the right,” directed the sign.

  “Oh, come on!” cried Dorothy, cheering up immediately. “I believe we’re going to have another adventure.”

  “I’d rather have some supper,” sighed the Cowardly Lion wistfully, “but unless we want to spend the night here
, we might as well move along. I’m to be fed up on adventure, I suppose.”

  “Turn to the left,” advised the next sign, and the two turned obediently and hurried on, trying to keep a straight course through the trees. In a Fairyland like Oz, where there are no trains or trolleys or even horses for traveling (’cepting Ozma’s Sawhorse), there are bound to be unexplored portions. And though Dorothy had been at one time or another in almost every part of Oz, the country through which they were now passing was totally unfamiliar to her. Night was coming on, and it was growing so dark that she could hardly read the third sign when they presently came upon it.

  “Don’t sing,” directed the sign sternly.

  “Sing!” snapped Dorothy indignantly, “Who wants to sing?”

  “We might as well keep to the left,” said the Cowardly Lion in a resigned voice, and they walked along for some time in silence. The trees were thinning out, and as they came to the edge of the forest, another sign confronted them.

  “Slow down,” read Dorothy with great difficulty. “What nonsense! If we slow down, how shall we ever get anywhere?”

  “Wait a minute,” mused the Cowardly Lion, half closing his eyes. “Aren’t there two roads just ahead, one going up and one going down? We’re to take the down road, I suppose. ‘Slow down,’ isn’t that what it says?”

  Slow down it surely was, for the road was so steep and full of stones that Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion had to pick their way with utmost care. But even bad roads must end somewhere, and coming suddenly to the edge of the woods, they saw a great city lying just below. A dim light burned over the main gate, and toward this the Cowardly Lion and Dorothy hurried as fast as they could. This was not very fast, for an unaccountable drowsiness was stealing over them.

  Slowly and more slowly, the tired little girl and her great four-footed companion advanced toward the dimly lighted gate. They were so drowsy that they had ceased to talk. But they dragged on.

  “Hah, hoh, hum!” yawned the Cowardly Lion. “What makes my feet so heavy?”

  He stopped short and examined each of his four feet sleepily.

  Dorothy swallowed a yawn and tried to run, but a walk was all she could manage.

  “Hah, hoh, hum!” she gaped, stumbling along with her eyes closed.

  By the time they had reached the gate, they were yawning so hard that the Cowardly Lion had nearly dislocated his jaw, and Dorothy was perfectly breathless. Holding to the lion’s mane to steady herself, Dorothy blinked up uncertainly at the sign over the gate.

  “Hah—here we are—Hoh!” She held her hand wearily before her mouth.

  Then, with a great effort, she read the words of the sign.

  “Um—Great—Grand and Mighty Slow Kingdom of Pokes! Uh-hah—Pokes! Do you hear? Hah, hoh, hu, uum!”

  Dorothy looked about in alarm, despite her sleepiness.

  “Do you hear?” she repeated anxiously as no answer came through the gloom.

  The Cowardly Lion did not hear. He had fallen down and was fast asleep, and so in another minute was Dorothy, her head pillowed against his kind, comfortable, cowardly heart. Fast asleep at the gates of a strange grey city!

  Chapter 5

  SIR HOKUS of POKES

  t was long past sunup before Dorothy awoke. She rubbed her eyes, yawned once or twice, and then shook the Cowardly Lion. The gates of the city were open, and although it looked even greyer in the daytime than it looked at night, the travelers were too hungry to be particular. A large placard was posted just inside:

  THIS IS POKES!

  DON’T RUN!

  DON’T SING!

  TALK SLOWLY!

  DON’T WHISTLE!

  Order of the Chief Poker.

  read Dorothy. “How cheerful! Hah, hoh, hum-mm!”

  “Don’t!” begged the Cowardly Lion with tears in his eyes. “If I yawn again, I’ll swallow my tail, and if I don’t have something to eat soon, I’ll do it anyway. Let’s hurry! There’s something queer about this place, Dorothy! Ah, hah, hoh, hum-mm!”

  Stifling their yawns, the two started down the long, narrow street. The houses were of grey stone, tall and stiff with tiny barred windows. It was absolutely quiet, and not a person was in sight. But when they turned the corner, they saw a crowd of queer-looking people creeping toward them. These singular individuals stopped between each step and stood perfectly still, and Dorothy was so surprised at their unusual appearance that she laughed right in the middle of a yawn.

  In the first place, they never lifted their feet, but pushed them along like skates. The women were dressed in grey polka-dot dresses with huge poke bonnets that almost hid their fat, sleepy, wide-mouthed faces. Most of them had pet snails on strings, and so slowly did they move that it looked as though the snails were tugging them along.

  The men were dressed like a party of congressmen, but instead of high hats wore large red nightcaps, and they were all as solemn as owls. It seemed impossible for them to keep both eyes open at the same time, and at first Dorothy thought they were winking at her. But as the whole company continued to stare fixedly with one open eye, she burst out laughing. At the unexpected sound (for no one had ever laughed in Pokes before), the women picked up their snails in a great fright, and the men clapped their fingers to their ears or to the places where their ears were under the red nightcaps.

  “These must be the Slow Pokes,” giggled Dorothy, nudging the Cowardly Lion. “Let’s go to meet them, for they’ll never reach us at the rate they are coming!”

  “There’s something wrong with my feet,” rumbled the Cowardly Lion without looking up. “Hah, hoh, hum! What’s the use of hurrying?” The fact of the matter was that they couldn’t hurry if they tried. Indeed, they could hardly lift their feet at all.

  “I wish the Scarecrow were with us,” sighed the Cowardly Lion, shuffling along unhappily. “He never grows sleepy, and he always knows what to do.”

  “No use wishing,” yawned Dorothy. “I only hope he’s not as lost as we are.”

  By struggling hard, they just managed to keep moving, and by the time they came up with the Slow Pokes, they were completely worn out. A cross-looking Poke held up his arm threateningly, and Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion stopped.

  “You—” said the Poke; then closed his mouth and stood staring vacantly for a whole minute.

  “Are—” He brought out the word with a perfectly enormous yawn, and Dorothy began fanning the Cowardly Lion with her hat, for he showed signs of falling asleep again.

  “What?” she asked crossly.

  “Under—” sighed the Poke after a long pause, and Dorothy, seeing that there was no hurrying him, began counting to herself. Just as she reached sixty, the Poke pushed back his red nightcap and shouted:

  “Arrest!”

  “Arrest!” shouted all the other Pokes so loud that the Cowardly Lion roused himself with a start, and the pet snails stuck out their heads. “A rest? A rest is not what we want! We want breakfast!” growled the lion irritably and started to roar, but a yawn spoiled it. (One simply cannot look fierce by yawning.)

  “You—” began the Poke. But Dorothy could not stand hearing the same slow speech again. Putting her fingers in her ears, she shouted back:

  “What for?”

  The Pokes regarded her sternly. Some even opened both eyes. Then the one who had first addressed them, covering a terrific gape with one hand, pointed with the other to a sign on a large post at the corner of the street.

  “Speed limit 1/4 mile an hour” said the sign.

  “We’re arrested for speeding!” shouted Dorothy in the Cowardly Lion’s ear.

  “Did you say feeding?” asked the poor lion, waking up with a start. “If I go to sleep again before I’m fed, I’ll starve to death!”

  “Then keep awake,” yawned Dorothy. By this time, the Pokes had surrounded them and were waving them imperiously ahead. They looked so threatening that Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion began to creep in the direction of a gloomy, grey castle. Of the journey neither
of them remembered a thing, for with the gaping and yawning Pokes it was almost impossible to keep awake. But they must have walked in their sleep, for the next thing Dorothy knew, a harsh voice called slowly:

  “Poke—him!”

  Greatly alarmed, Dorothy opened her eyes. They were in a huge stone hall hung all over with rusty armor, and seated on a great stone chair, snoring so loudly that all the steel helmets rattled, was a Knight. The tallest and crossest of the Pokes rushed at him with a long poker, giving him such a shove that he sprawled to the floor.

  “So—” yawned the Cowardly Lion, awakened by the clatter, “Knight has fallen!”

  “Prisoners—Sir Hokus!” shouted the Chief Poker, lifting the Knight’s plume and speaking into the helmet as if he were telephoning.

  The Knight arose with great dignity, and after straightening his armor, let down his visor, and Dorothy saw a kind, timid face with melancholy blue eyes—not at all Pokish, as she explained to Ozma later.

  “What means this unwonted clamor?” asked Sir Hokus, peering curiously at the prisoners.

  “We’re sorry to waken you,” said Dorothy politely, “but could you please give us some breakfast?”

  “A lot!” added the Cowardly Lion, licking his chops.

  “It’s safer for me to sing,” said the Knight mournfully, and throwing back his head, he roared in a high, hoarse voice:

  “Don’t yawn! Don’t yawn!

  We’re out of breath—

  Begone—BEGONE

  Or die the death!”

  The Cowardly Lion growled threateningly and began lashing his tail.

  “If he weren’t in a can, I’d eat him,” he rumbled, “but I never could abide tinned meat.”

  “He’s not in a can, he’s in armor,” explained Dorothy, too interested to pay much attention to the Cowardly Lion, for at the first note of the Knight’s song, the Pokes began scowling horribly, and by the time he had finished they were backing out of the room faster than Dorothy ever imagined they could go.