The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  The charioteer did not move.

  “You forgot to order him in music,” suggested Dorothy.

  “Ah, so I did.”

  He touched a button and a music box in the dragon’s head began to play a tune. At once the little charioteer pulled over a lever, and the dragon began to move, very slowly and groaning dismally as it drew the clumsy chariot after it. Toto trotted between the wheels. The Sawhorse, the Mule, the Lion and the Woozy followed after and had no trouble in keeping up with the machine. Indeed, they had to go slow to keep from running into it. When the wheels turned, another music box concealed somewhere under the chariot played a lively march tune which was in striking contrast with the dragging movement of the strange vehicle, and Button-Bright decided that the music he had heard when they first sighted this city was nothing else than a chariot plodding its weary way through the streets.

  All the travelers from the Emerald City thought this ride the most uninteresting and dreary they had ever experienced, but the High Coco-Lorum seemed to think it was grand. He pointed out the different buildings and parks and fountains in much the same way that the conductor does on an American “sightseeing wagon” does, and being guests they were obliged to submit to the ordeal. But they became a little worried when their host told them he had ordered a banquet prepared for them in the City Hall.

  “What are we going to eat?” asked Button-Bright suspiciously.

  “Thistles,” was the reply. “Fine, fresh thistles, gathered this very day.”

  Scraps laughed, for she never ate anything, but Dorothy said in a protesting voice, “OUR insides are not lined with gold, you know.”

  “How sad!” exclaimed the High Coco-Lorum, and then he added as an afterthought, “but we can have the thistles boiled, if you prefer.”

  “I’m ‘fraid they wouldn’t taste good even then,” said little Trot. “Haven’t you anything else to eat?”

  The High Coco-Lorum shook his diamond-shaped head.

  “Nothing that I know of,” said he. “But why should we have anything else when we have so many thistles? However, if you can’t eat what we eat, don’t eat anything. We shall not be offended, and the banquet will be just as merry and delightful.”

  Knowing his companions were all hungry, the Wizard said, “I trust you will excuse us from the banquet, sir, which will be merry enough without us, although it is given in our honor. For, as Ozma is not in your city, we must leave here at once and seek her elsewhere.”

  “Sure we must!” Dorothy, and she whispered to Betsy and Trot, “I’d rather starve somewhere else than in this city, and who knows, we may run across somebody who eats reg’lar food and will give us some.”

  So when the ride was finished, in spite of the protests of the High Coco-Lorum, they insisted on continuing their journey. “It will soon be dark,” he objected.

  “We don’t mind the darkness,” replied the Wizard.

  “Some wandering Herku may get you.”

  “Do you think the Herkus would hurt us?” asked Dorothy.

  “I cannot say, not having had the honor of their acquaintance. But they are said to be so strong that if they had any other place to stand upon they could lift the world.”

  “All of them together?” asked Button-Bright wonderingly.

  “Any one of them could do it,” said the High Coco-Lorum.

  “Have you heard of any magicians being among them?” asked the Wizard, knowing that only a magician could have stolen Ozma in the way she had been stolen.

  “I am told it is quite a magical country,” declared the High Coco-Lorum, “and magic is usually performed by magicians. But I have never heard that they have any invention or sorcery to equal our wonderful auto-dragons.”

  They thanked him for his courtesy, and mounting their own animals rode to the farther side of the city and right through the Wall of Illusion out into the open country. “I’m glad we got away so easily,” said Betsy. “I didn’t like those queer-shaped people.”

  “Nor did I,” agreed Dorothy. “It seems dreadful to be lined with sheets of pure gold and have nothing to eat but thistles.”

  “They seemed happy and contented, though,” remarked the Wizard, “and those who are contented have nothing to regret and nothing more to wish for.”

  CHAPTER 10.TOTO LOSES SOMETHING

  For a while the travelers were constantly losing their direction, for beyond the thistle fields they again found themselves upon the turning-lands, which swung them around one way and then another. But by keeping the City of Thi constantly behind them, the adventurers finally passed the treacherous turning-lands and came upon a stony country where no grass grew at all. There were plenty of bushes, however, and although it was now almost dark, the girls discovered some delicious yellow berries growing upon the bushes, one taste of which set them all to picking as many as they could find. The berries relieved their pangs of hunger for a time, and as it now became too dark to see anything, they camped where they were.

  The three girls lay down upon one of the blankets—all in a row—and the Wizard covered them with the other blanket and tucked them in. Button-Bright crawled under the shelter of some bushes and was asleep in half a minute. The Wizard sat down with his back to a big stone and looked at the stars in the sky and thought gravely upon the dangerous adventure they had undertaken, wondering if they would ever be able to find their beloved Ozma again. The animals lay in a group by themselves, a little distance from the others.

  “I’ve lost my growl!” said Toto, who had been very silent and sober all that day. “What do you suppose has become of it?”

  “If you had asked me to keep track of your growl, I might be able to tell you,” remarked the Lion sleepily. “But frankly, Toto, I supposed you were taking care of it yourself.”

  “It’s an awful thing to lose one’s growl,” said Toto, wagging his tail disconsolately. “What if you lost your roar, Lion? Wouldn’t you feel terrible?”

  “My roar,” replied the Lion, “is the fiercest thing about me. I depend on it to frighten my enemies so badly that they won’t dare to fight me.”

  “Once,” said the Mule, “I lost my bray so that I couldn’t call to Betsy to let her know I was hungry. That was before I could talk, you know, for I had not yet come into the Land of Oz, and I found it was certainly very uncomfortable not to be able to make a noise.”

  “You make enough noise now,” declared Toto. “But none of you have answered my question: Where is my growl?”

  “You may search ME,” said the Woozy. “I don’t care for such things, myself.”

  “You snore terribly,” asserted Toto.

  “It may be,” said the Woozy. “What one does when asleep one is not accountable for. I wish you would wake me up sometime when I’m snoring and let me hear the sound. Then I can judge whether it is terrible or delightful.”

  “It isn’t pleasant, I assure you,” said the Lion, yawning.

  “To me it seems wholly unnecessary,” declared Hank the Mule.

  “You ought to break yourself of the habit,” said the Sawhorse. “You never hear me snore, because I never sleep. I don’t even whinny as those puffy meat horses do. I wish that whoever stole Toto’s growl had taken the Mule’s bray and the Lion’s roar and the Woozy’s snore at the same time.”

  “Do you think, then, that my growl was stolen?”

  “You have never lost it before, have you?” inquired inquired the Sawhorse.

  “Only once, when I had a sore throat from barking too long at the moon.”

  “Is your throat sore now?” asked the Woozy.

  “No,” replied the dog.

  “I can’t understand,” said Hank, “why dogs bark at the moon. They can’t scare the moon, and the moon doesn’t pay any attention to the bark. So why do dogs do it?”

  “Were you ever a dog?” asked Toto.

  �
��No indeed,” replied Hank. “I am thankful to say I was created a mule—the most beautiful of all beasts—and have always remained one.”

  The Woozy sat upon his square haunches to examine Hank with care. “Beauty,” he said, “must be a matter of taste. I don’t say your judgment is bad, friend Hank, or that you are so vulgar as to be conceited. But if you admire big, waggy ears and a tail like a paintbrush and hoofs big enough for an elephant and a long neck and a body so skinny that one can count the ribs with one eye shut—if that’s your idea of beauty, Hank, then either you or I must be much mistaken.”

  “You’re full of edges,” sneered the Mule. “If I were square as you are, I suppose you’d think me lovely.”

  “Outwardly, dear Hank, I would,” replied the Woozy. “But to be really lovely, one must be beautiful without and within.”

  The Mule couldn’t deny this statement, so he gave a disgusted grunt and rolled over so that his back was toward the Woozy. But the Lion, regarding the two calmly with his great, yellow eyes, said to the dog, “My dear Toto, our friends have taught us a lesson in humility. If the Woozy and the Mule are indeed beautiful creatures as they seem to think, you and I must be decidedly ugly.”

  “Not to ourselves,” protested Toto, who was a shrewd little dog. “You and I, Lion, are fine specimens of our own races. I am a fine dog, and you are a fine lion. Only in point of comparison, one with another, can we be properly judged, so I will leave it to the poor old Sawhorse to decide which is the most beautiful animal among us all. The Sawhorse is wood, so he won’t be prejudiced and will speak the truth.”

  “I surely will,” responded the Sawhorse, wagging his ears, which were chips set in his wooden head. “Are you all agreed to accept my judgment?”

  “We are!” they declared, each one hopeful.

  “Then,” said the Sawhorse, “I must point out to you the fact that you are all meat creatures, who tire unless they sleep and starve unless they eat and suffer from thirst unless they drink. Such animals must be very imperfect, and imperfect creatures cannot be beautiful. Now, I am made of wood.”

  “You surely have a wooden head,” said the Mule.

  “Yes, and a wooden body and wooden legs, which are as swift as the wind and as tireless. I’ve heard Dorothy say that ‘handsome is as handsome does,’ and I surely perform my duties in a handsome manner. Therefore, if you wish my honest judgment, I will confess that among us all I am the most beautiful.”

  The Mule snorted, and the Woozy laughed; Toto had lost his growl and could only look scornfully at the Sawhorse, who stood in his place unmoved. But the Lion stretched himself and yawned, saying quietly, “Were we all like the Sawhorse, we would all be Sawhorses, which would be too many of the kind. Were we all like Hank, we would be a herd of mules; if like Toto, we would be a pack of dogs; should we all become the shape of the Woozy, he would no longer be remarkable for his unusual appearance. Finally, were you all like me, I would consider you so common that I would not care to associate with you. To be individual, my friends, to be different from others, is the only way to become distinguished from the common herd. Let us be glad, therefore, that we differ from one another in form and in disposition. Variety is the spice of life, and we are various enough to enjoy one another’s society; so let us be content.”

  “There is some truth in that speech,” remarked Toto reflectively. “But how about my lost growl?”

  “The growl is of importance only to you,” responded the Lion, “so it is your business to worry over the loss, not ours. If you love us, do not afflict your burdens on us; be unhappy all by yourself.”

  “If the same person stole my growl who stole Ozma,” said the little dog, “I hope we shall find him very soon and punish him as he deserves. He must be the most cruel person in all the world, for to prevent a dog from growling when it is his nature to growl is just as wicked, in my opinion, as stealing all the magic in Oz.”

  CHAPTER 11.BUTTON-BRIGHT LOSES HIMSELF

  The Patchwork Girl, who never slept and who could see very well in the dark, had wandered among the rocks and bushes all night long, with the result that she was able to tell some good news the next morning. “Over the crest of the hill before us,” she said, “is a big grove of trees of many kinds on which all sorts of fruits grow. If you will go there, you will find a nice breakfast awaiting you.” This made them eager to start, so as soon as the blankets were folded and strapped to the back of the Sawhorse, they all took their places on the animals and set out for the big grove Scraps had told them of.

  As soon as they got over the brow of the hill, they discovered it to be a really immense orchard, extending for miles to the right and left of them. As their way led straight through the trees, they hurried forward as fast as possible. The first trees they came to bore quinces, which they did not like. Then there were rows of citron trees and then crab apples and afterward limes and lemons. But beyond these they found a grove of big, golden oranges, juicy and sweet, and the fruit hung low on the branches so they could pluck it easily.

  They helped themselves freely and all ate oranges as they continued on their way. Then, a little farther along, they came to some trees bearing fine, red apples, which they also feasted on, and the Wizard stopped here long enough to tie a lot of the apples in one end of a blanket.

  “We do not know what will happen to us after we leave this delightful orchard,” he said, “so I think it wise to carry a supply of apples with us. We can’t starve as long as we have apples, you know.”

  Scraps wasn’t riding the Woozy just now. She loved to climb the trees and swing herself by the branches from one tree to another. Some of the choicest fruit was gathered by the Patchwork Girl from the very highest limbs and tossed down to the others. Suddenly, Trot asked, “Where’s Button-Bright?” and when the others looked for him, they found the boy had disappeared.

  “Dear me!” cried Dorothy. “I guess he’s lost again, and that will mean our waiting here until we can find him.”

  “It’s a good place to wait,” suggested Betsy, who had found a plum tree and was eating some of its fruit.

  “How can you wait here and find Button-Bright at one and the same time?” inquired the Patchwork Girl, hanging by her toes on a limb just over the heads of the three mortal girls.

  “Perhaps he’ll come back here,” answered Dorothy.

  “If he tries that, he’ll prob’ly lose his way,” said Trot. “I’ve known him to do that lots of times. It’s losing his way that gets him lost.”

  “Very true,” said the Wizard. “So all the rest of you must stay here while I go look for the boy.”

  “Won’t YOU get lost, too?” asked Betsy.

  “I hope not, my dear.”

  “Let ME go,” said Scraps, dropping lightly to the ground. “I can’t get lost, and I’m more likely to find Button-Bright than any of you.” Without waiting for permission, she darted away through the trees and soon disappeared from their view.

  “Dorothy,” said Toto, squatting beside his little mistress, “I’ve lost my growl.”

  “How did that happen?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Toto. “Yesterday morning the Woozy nearly stepped on me, and I tried to growl at him and found I couldn’t growl a bit.”

  “Can you bark?” inquired Dorothy.

  “Oh, yes indeed.”

  “Then never mind the growl,” said she.

  “But what will I do when I get home to the Glass Cat and the Pink Kitten?” asked the little dog in an anxious tone.

  “They won’t mind if you can’t growl at them, I’m sure,” said Dorothy. “I’m sorry for you, of course, Toto, for it’s just those things we can’t do that we want to do most of all; but before we get back, you may find your growl again.”

  “Do you think the person who stole Ozma stole my growl?”

  Dorothy smiled.

  “Pe
rhaps, Toto.”

  “Then he’s a scoundrel!” cried the little dog.

  “Anyone who would steal Ozma is as bad as bad can be,” agreed Dorothy, “and when we remember that our dear friend, the lovely Ruler of Oz, is lost, we ought not to worry over just a growl.”

  Toto was not entirely satisfied with this remark, for the more he thought upon his lost growl, the more important his misfortune became. When no one was looking, he went away among the trees and tried his best to growl—even a little bit—but could not manage to do so. All he could do was bark, and a bark cannot take the place of a growl, so he sadly returned to the others.

  Now Button-Bright had no idea that he was lost at first. He had merely wandered from tree to tree seeking the finest fruit until he discovered he was alone in the great orchard. But that didn’t worry him just then, and seeing some apricot trees farther on, he went to them. Then he discovered some cherry trees; just beyond these were some tangerines. “We’ve found ‘most ev’ry kind of fruit but peaches,” he said to himself, “so I guess there are peaches here, too, if I can find the trees.”

  He searched here and there, paying no attention to his way, until he found that the trees surrounding him bore only nuts. He put some walnuts in his pockets and kept on searching, and at last—right among the nut trees—he came upon one solitary peach tree. It was a graceful, beautiful tree, but although it was thickly leaved, it bore no fruit except one large, splendid peach, rosy-cheeked and fuzzy and just right to eat.

  In his heart he doubted this statement, for this was a solitary peach tree, while all the other fruits grew upon many trees set close to one another; but that one luscious bite made him unable to resist eating the rest of it, and soon the peach was all gone except the pit. Button-Bright was about to throw this peach pit away when he noticed that it was of pure gold. Of course, this surprised him, but so many things in the Land of Oz were surprising that he did not give much thought to the golden peach pit. He put it in his pocket, however, to show to the girls, and five minutes afterward had forgotten all about it.