They made rather slow progress and night overtook them before they were halfway down the mountain side, so they found a cave in which they sought shelter until morning. Cayke had brought along a basket full of her famous cookies, so they all had plenty to eat.
On the second day the Yips began to wish they had not embarked on this adventure. They grumbled a good deal at having to cut away the thorns to make the path for the Frogman and the Cookie Cook, for their own clothing suffered many tears, while Cayke and the Frogman traveled safely and in comfort.
“If it is true that anyone came to our country to steal your diamond dishpan,” said one of the Yips to Cayke, “it must have been a bird, for no person in the form of a man, woman or child could have climbed through these bushes and back again.”
“And, allowing he could have done so,” said another Yip, “the diamond-studded gold dishpan would not have repaid him for his troubles and his tribulations.”
“For my part,” remarked a third Yip, “I would rather go back home and dig and polish some more diamonds, and mine some more gold, and make you another dishpan, than be scratched from head to heel by these dreadful bushes. Even now, if my mother saw me, she would not know I am her son.”
Cayke paid no heed to these mutterings, nor did the Frogman. Although their journey was slow it was being made easy for them by the Yips, so they had nothing to complain of and no desire to turn back.
Quite near to the bottom of the great hill they came upon a deep gulf, the sides of which were as smooth as glass. The gulf extended a long distance — as far as they could see, in either direction — and although it was not very wide it was far too wide for the Yips to leap across it. And, should they fall into it, it was likely they might never get out again.
“Here our journey ends,” said the Yips. “We must go back again.”
Cayke the Cookie Cook began to weep.
“I shall never find my pretty dishpan again — and my heart will be broken!” she sobbed.
The Frogman went to the edge of the gulf and with his eye carefully measured the distance to the other side.
“Being a frog,” said he, “I can leap, as all frogs do; and, being so big and strong, I am sure I can leap across this gulf with ease. But the rest of you, not being frogs, must return the way you came.”
“We will do that with pleasure,” cried the Yips and at once they turned and began to climb up the steep mountain, feeling they had had quite enough of this unsatisfactory adventure. Cayke the Cookie Cook did not go with them, however. She sat on a rock and wept and wailed and was very miserable.
“Well,” said the Frogman to her, “I will now bid you good-bye. If I find your diamond decorated gold dishpan I will promise to see that it is safely returned to you.”
“But I prefer to find it myself!” she said. “See here, Frogman, why can’t you carry me across the gulf when you leap it? You are big and strong, while I am small and thin.”
The Frogman gravely thought over this suggestion. It was a fact that Cayke the Cookie Cook was not a heavy person. Perhaps he could leap the gulf with her on his back.
“If you are willing to risk a fall,” said he, “I will make the attempt.”
At once she sprang up and grabbed him around his neck with both her arms. That is, she grabbed him where his neck ought to be, for the Frogman had no neck at all. Then he squatted down, as frogs do when they leap, and with his powerful rear legs he made a tremendous jump.
Over the gulf he sailed, with the Cookie Cook on his back, and he had leaped so hard — to make sure of not falling in — that he sailed over a lot of bramble-bushes that grew on the other side and landed in a clear space which was so far beyond the gulf that when they looked back they could not see it at all.
Cayke now got off the Frogman’s back and he stood erect again and carefully brushed the dust from his velvet coat and rearranged his white satin necktie.
“I had no idea I could leap so far,” he said wonderingly. “Leaping is one more accomplishment I can now add to the long list of deeds I am able to perform.”
“You are certainly fine at leap-frog,” said the Cookie Cook, admiringly; “but, as you say, you are wonderful in many ways. If we meet with any people down here I am sure they will consider you the greatest and grandest of all living creatures.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I shall probably astonish strangers, because they have never before had the pleasure of seeing me. Also they will marvel at my great learning. Every time I open my mouth, Cayke, I am liable to say something important.”
“That is true,” she agreed, “and it is fortunate your mouth is so very wide and opens so far, for otherwise all the wisdom might not be able to get out of it.”
“Perhaps nature made it wide for that very reason,” said the Frogman: “But come; let us now go on, for it is getting late and we must find some sort of shelter before night overtakes us.”
CHAPTER 4
The settled parts
of the Winkie
Country are full
of happy and con-
tented people who are ruled by a tin Emperor named Nick Chopper, who in turn is a subject of the beautiful girl Ruler, Ozma of Oz. But not all of the Winkie Country is fully settled. At the east, which part lies nearest the Emerald City, there are beautiful farmhouses and roads, but as you travel west you first come to a branch of the Winkie River, beyond which there is a rough country where few people live, and some of these are quite unknown to the rest of the world. After passing through this rude section of territory, which no one ever visits, you would come to still another branch of the Winkie River, after crossing which you would find another well-settled part of the Winkie Country, extending westward quite to the Deadly Desert that surrounds all the Land of Oz and separates that favored fairyland from the more common outside world. The Winkies who live in this west section have many tin mines, from which metal they make a great deal of rich jewelry and other articles, all of which are highly esteemed in the Land of Oz because tin is so bright and pretty, and there is not so much of it as there is of gold and silver.
Not all the Winkies are miners, however, for some till the fields and grow grains for food, and it was at one of these far west Winkie farms that the Frogman and Cayke the Cookie Cook first arrived after they had descended from the mountain of the Yips.
“Goodness me!” cried Nellary, the Winkie wife, when she saw the strange couple approaching her house. “I have seen many queer creatures in the Land of Oz, but none more queer than this giant frog, who dresses like a man and walks on his hind legs. Come here, Wiljon,” she called to her husband, who was eating his breakfast, “and take a look at this astonishing freak.”
Wiljon the Winkie came to the door and looked out. He was still standing in the doorway when the Frogman approached and said with a haughty croak:
“Tell me, my good man, have you seen a diamond-studded gold dishpan?”
“No; nor have I seen a copper-plated lobster,” replied Wiljon, in an equally haughty tone.
The Frogman stared at him and said:
“Do not be insolent, fellow!”
“No,” added Cayke the Cookie Cook, hastily, “you must be very polite to the great Frogman, for he is the wisest creature in all the world.”
“Who says that?” inquired Wiljon.
“He says so himself,” replied Cayke, and the Frogman nodded and strutted up and down, twirling his gold-headed cane very gracefully.
“Does the Scarecrow admit that this overgrown frog is the wisest creature in the world?” asked Wiljon.
“I do not know who the Scarecrow is,” answered Cayke the Cookie Cook.
“Well, he lives at the Emerald City, and he is supposed to have the finest brains in all Oz. The Wizard gave them to him, you know.”
“Mine grew in my head,” said the Frogman pompously, “so I think they must be better than any wizard brains. I am so wise that sometimes my wisdom makes my head ache. I know so much that often I have to forget par
t of it, since no one creature, however great, is able to contain so much knowledge.”
“It must be dreadful to be stuffed full of wisdom,” remarked Wiljon reflectively, and eyeing the Frogman with a doubtful look. “It is my good fortune to know very little.”
“I hope, however, you know where my jeweled dishpan is,” said the Cookie Cook anxiously.
“I do not know even that,” returned the Winkie. “We have trouble enough in keeping track of our own dishpans, without meddling with the dishpans of strangers.”
Finding him so ignorant, the Frogman proposed that they walk on and seek Cayke’s dishpan elsewhere. Wiljon the Winkie did not seem greatly impressed by the great Frogman, which seemed to that personage as strange as it was disappointing; but others in this unknown land might prove more respectful.
“I’d like to meet that Wizard of Oz,” remarked Cayke, as they walked along a path. “If he could give a Scarecrow brains he might be able to find my dishpan.”
“Poof!” grunted the Frogman scornfully; “I am greater than any wizard. Depend on me. If your dishpan is anywhere in the world I am sure to find it.”
“If you do not, my heart will be broken,” declared the Cookie Cook in a sorrowful voice.
For a while the Frogman walked on in silence. Then he asked:
“Why do you attach so much importance to a dishpan?”
“It is the greatest treasure I possess,” replied the woman. “It belonged to my mother and to all my grandmothers, since the beginning of time. It is, I believe, the very oldest thing in all the Yip Country — or was while it was there — and,” she added, dropping her voice to an awed whisper, “it has magic powers!”
“In what way?” inquired the Frogman, seeming to be surprised at this statement.
“Whoever has owned that dishpan has been a good cook, for one thing. No one else is able to make such good cookies as I have cooked, as you and all the Yips know. Yet, the very morning after my dishpan was stolen, I tried to make a batch of cookies and they burned up in the oven! I made another batch that proved too tough to eat, and I was so ashamed of them that I buried them in the ground. Even the third batch of cookies, which I brought with me in my basket, were pretty poor stuff and no better than any woman could make who does not own my diamond-studded gold dishpan. In fact, my good Frogman, Cayke the Cookie Cook will never be able to cook good cookies again until her magic dishpan is restored to her.”
“In that case,” said the Frogman with a sigh, “I suppose we must manage to find it.”
CHAPTER 5
“Really,” said
Dorothy, looking
solemn, “this is
very s’prising. We
can’t find even a shadow of Ozma anywhere in the Em’rald City; and, wherever she’s gone, she’s taken her Magic Picture with her.”
She was standing in the courtyard of the palace with Betsy and Trot, while Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, danced around the group, her hair flying in the wind.
“P’raps,” said Scraps, still dancing, “someone has stolen Ozma.”
“Oh, they’d never dare do that!” exclaimed tiny Trot.
“And stolen the Magic Picture, too, so the thing can’t tell where she is,” added the Patchwork Girl.
“That’s nonsense,” said Dorothy. “Why, ev’ryone loves Ozma. There isn’t a person in the Land of Oz who would steal a single thing she owns.”
“Huh!” replied the Patchwork Girl. “You don’t know ev’ry person in the Land of Oz.”
“Why don’t I?”
“It’s a big country,” said Scraps. “There are cracks and corners in it that even Ozma doesn’t know of.”
“The Patchwork Girl’s just daffy,” declared Betsy.
“No; she’s right about that,” replied Dorothy thoughtfully. “There are lots of queer people in this fairyland who never come near Ozma or the Em’rald City. I’ve seen some of ‘em myself, girls; but I haven’t seen all, of course, and there might be some wicked persons left in Oz, yet, though I think the wicked witches have all been destroyed.”
Just then the Wooden Sawhorse dashed into the courtyard with the Wizard of Oz on his back.
“Have you found Ozma?” cried the Wizard when the Sawhorse stopped beside them.
“Not yet,” said Dorothy. “Doesn’t Glinda know where she is?”
“No. Glinda’s Book of Records and all her magic instruments are gone. Someone must have stolen them.”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Dorothy, in alarm. “This is the biggest steal I ever heard of. Who do you think did it, Wizard?”
“I’ve no idea,” he answered. “But I have come to get my own bag of magic tools and carry them to Glinda. She is so much more powerful than I that she may be able to discover the truth by means of my magic, quicker and better than I could myself.”
“Hurry, then,” said Dorothy, “for we’re all getting terr’bly worried.”
The Wizard rushed away to his rooms but presently came back with a long, sad face.
“It’s gone!” he said.
“What’s gone?” asked Scraps.
“My black bag of magic tools. Someone must have stolen it!”
They looked at one another in amazement.
“This thing is getting desperate,” continued the Wizard. “All the magic that belongs to Ozma, or to Glinda, or to me, has been stolen.”
“Do you suppose Ozma could have taken them, herself, for some purpose?” asked Betsy.
“No, indeed,” declared the Wizard. “I suspect some enemy has stolen Ozma and, for fear we would follow and recapture her, has taken all our magic away from us.”
“How dreadful!” cried Dorothy. “The idea of anyone wanting to injure our dear Ozma! Can’t we do anything to find her, Wizard?”
“I’ll ask Glinda. I must go straight back to her and tell her that my magic tools have also disappeared. The good Sorceress will be greatly shocked, I know.”
With this he jumped upon the back of the Sawhorse again and the quaint steed, which never tired, dashed away at full speed.
The three girls were very much disturbed in mind. Even the Patchwork Girl was more quiet than usual and seemed to realize that a great calamity had overtaken them all. Ozma was a fairy of considerable power and all the creatures in Oz, as well as the three mortal girls from the outside world, looked upon her as their protector and friend. The idea of their beautiful girl Ruler’s being overpowered by an enemy and dragged from her splendid palace a captive was too astonishing for them to comprehend, at first. Yet what other explanation of the mystery could there be?
“Ozma wouldn’t go away willingly, without letting us know about it,” asserted Dorothy; “and she wouldn’t steal Glinda’s Great Book of Records, or the Wizard’s magic, ‘cause she could get them any time, just by asking for ‘em. I’m sure some wicked person has done all this.”
“Someone in the Land of Oz?” asked Trot.
“Of course. No one could get across the Deadly Desert, you know, and no one but an Oz person could know about the Magic Picture and the Book of Records and the Wizard’s magic, or where they were kept, and so be able to steal the whole outfit before we could stop ‘em. It must be someone who lives in the Land of Oz.”
“But who — who — who?” asked Scraps. “That’s the question. Who?”
“If we knew,” replied Dorothy, severely, “we wouldn’t be standing here, doing nothing.”
Just then two boys entered the courtyard and approached the group of girls. One boy was dressed in the fantastic Munchkin costume — a blue jacket and knickerbockers, blue leather shoes and a blue hat with a high peak and tiny silver bells dangling from its rim — and this was Ojo the Lucky, who had once come from the Munchkin Country of Oz and now lived in the Emerald City. The other boy was an American, from Philadelphia, and had lately found his way to Oz in the company of Trot and Cap’n Bill. His name was Button-Bright; that is, everyone called him by that name, and knew no other.
Button-Bright
was not quite as big as the Munchkin boy, but he wore the same kind of clothes, only they were of different colors. As the two came up to the girls, arm in arm, Button-Bright remarked:
“Hello, Dorothy. They say Ozma is lost.”
“Who says so?” she asked.
“Everybody’s talking about it, in the City,” he replied.
“I wonder how the people found it out?” Dorothy asked.
“I know,” said Ojo. “Jellia Jamb told them. She has been asking everywhere if anyone has seen Ozma.”
“That’s too bad,” observed Dorothy, frowning.
“Why?” asked Button-Bright.
“There wasn’t any use making all our people unhappy, till we were dead certain that Ozma can’t be found.”
“Pshaw,” said Button-Bright, “It’s nothing to get lost. I’ve been lost lots of times.”
“That’s true,” admitted Trot, who knew that the boy had a habit of getting lost and then finding himself again; “but it’s diff’rent with Ozma. She’s the Ruler of all this big fairyland and we’re ‘fraid that the reason she’s lost is because somebody has stolen her away.”
“Only wicked people steal,” said Ojo. “Do you know of any wicked people in Oz, Dorothy?”
“No,” she replied.
“They’re here, though,” cried Scraps, dancing up to them and then circling around the group. “Ozma’s stolen; someone in Oz stole her; only wicked people steal; so someone in Oz is wicked!”
There was no denying the truth of this statement. The faces of all of them were now solemn and sorrowful.
“One thing is sure,” said Button-Bright, after a time, “if Ozma has been stolen, someone ought to find her and punish the thief.”
“There may be a lot of thieves,” suggested Trot gravely, “and in this fairy country they don’t seem to have any soldiers or policemen.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 149
