Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “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.

  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.”

  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.

  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:

  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.

  “‘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.

  “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.”

  “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 especi
ally 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.

  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.