THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
by
L. FRANK BAUM
Affectionately Dedicated to my young friend
Sumner Hamilton Britton of Chicago
Prologue
Through the kindness of Dorothy Gale of Kansas, afterward Princess
Dorothy of Oz, an humble writer in the United States of America was
once appointed Royal Historian of Oz, with the privilege of writing the
chronicle of that wonderful fairyland. But after making six books about
the adventures of those interesting but queer people who live in the
Land of Oz, the Historian learned with sorrow that by an edict of the
Supreme Ruler, Ozma of Oz, her country would thereafter be rendered
invisible to all who lived outside its borders and that all
communication with Oz would, in the future, be cut off.
The children who had learned to look for the books about Oz and who
loved the stories about the gay and happy people inhabiting that
favored country, were as sorry as their Historian that there would be
no more books of Oz stories. They wrote many letters asking if the
Historian did not know of some adventures to write about that had
happened before the Land of Oz was shut out from all the rest of the
world. But he did not know of any. Finally one of the children inquired
why we couldn't hear from Princess Dorothy by wireless telegraph, which
would enable her to communicate to the Historian whatever happened in
the far-off Land of Oz without his seeing her, or even knowing just
where Oz is.
That seemed a good idea; so the Historian rigged up a high tower in his
back yard, and took lessons in wireless telegraphy until he understood
it, and then began to call "Princess Dorothy of Oz" by sending messages
into the air.
Now, it wasn't likely that Dorothy would be looking for wireless
messages or would heed the call; but one thing the Historian was sure
of, and that was that the powerful Sorceress, Glinda, would know what
he was doing and that he desired to communicate with Dorothy. For
Glinda has a big book in which is recorded every event that takes place
anywhere in the world, just the moment that it happens, and so of
course the book would tell her about the wireless message.
And that was the way Dorothy heard that the Historian wanted to speak
with her, and there was a Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how to
telegraph a wireless reply. The result was that the Historian begged so
hard to be told the latest news of Oz, so that he could write it down
for the children to read, that Dorothy asked permission of Ozma and
Ozma graciously consented.
That is why, after two long years of waiting, another Oz story is now
presented to the children of America. This would not have been possible
had not some clever man invented the "wireless" and an equally clever
child suggested the idea of reaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its
means.
L. Frank Baum.
"OZCOT"
at Hollywood
in California
LIST OF CHAPTERS
1 - Ojo and Unc Nunkie
2 - The Crooked Magician
3 - The Patchwork Girl
4 - The Glass Cat
5 - A Terrible Accident
6 - The Journey
7 - The Troublesome Phonograph
8 - The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey
9 - They Meet the Woozy
10 - Shaggy Man to the Rescue
11 - A Good Friend
12 - The Giant Porcupine
13 - Scraps and the Scarecrow
14 - Ojo Breaks the Law
15 - Ozma's Prisoner
16 - Princess Dorothy
17 - Ozma and Her Friends
18 - Ojo is Forgiven
19 - Trouble with the Tottenhots
20 - The Captive Yoop
21 - Hip Hopper the Champion
22 - The Joking Horners
23 - Peace is Declared
24 - Ojo Finds the Dark Well
25 - They Bribe the Lazy Quadling
26 - The Trick River
27 - The Tin Woodman Objects
28 - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
The Patchwork Girl of Oz
Chapter One
Ojo and Unc Nunkie
"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?" asked Ojo.
Unc looked out of the window and stroked his long beard. Then he turned
to the Munchkin boy and shook his head.
"Isn't," said he.
"Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's the jam then?" inquired
Ojo, standing on a stool so he could look through all the shelves of
the cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again.
"Gone," he said.
"No jam, either? And no cake--no jelly--no apples--nothing but bread?"
"All," said Unc, again stroking his beard as he gazed from the window.
The little boy brought the stool and sat beside his uncle, munching the
dry bread slowly and seeming in deep thought.
"Nothing grows in our yard but the bread tree," he mused, "and there
are only two more loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell
me, Unc; why are we so poor?"
The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He had kindly eyes, but he
hadn't smiled or laughed in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc
Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And Unc never spoke any
more words than he was obliged to, so his little nephew, who lived
alone with him, had learned to understand a great deal from one word.
"Why are we so poor, Unc?" repeated the boy.
"Not," said the old Munchkin.
"I think we are," declared Ojo. "What have we got?"
"House," said Unc Nunkie.
"I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz has a place to live. What else,
Unc?"
"Bread."
"I'm eating the last loaf that's ripe. There; I've put aside your
share, Unc. It's on the table, so you can eat it when you get hungry.
But when that is gone, what shall we eat, Unc?"
The old man shifted in his chair but merely shook his head.
"Of course," said Ojo, who was obliged to talk because his uncle would
not, "no one starves in the Land of Oz, either. There is plenty for
everyone, you know; only, if it isn't just where you happen to be, you
must go where it is."
The aged Munchkin wriggled again and stared at his small nephew as if
disturbed by his argument.
"By to-morrow morning," the boy went on, "we must go where there is
something to eat, or we shall grow very hungry and become very unhappy."
"Where?" asked Unc.
"Where shall we go? I don't know, I'm sure," replied Ojo. "But you must
know, Unc. You must have traveled, in your time, because you're so old.
I don't remember it, because ever since I could remember anything we've
lived right here in this lonesome, round house, with a little garden
back of it and the thick woods all around. All I've ever seen of the
great Land of Oz, Unc dear, is the view of that mountain over at the
south, where they say the Hammerheads live--who won't let anybody go by
them--and that mountain at the north, where they say nobody lives."
"One," declared Unc, correcting him.
"Oh, yes; one family lives there, I've heard. That's the Crooked
Magician, who is named Dr. Pipt, and his wife Margolotte. One year you
told me about them; I think it took you a whole year, Unc, to say as
much as I've just said about the Crooked Magician and his wife. They
live high up on the mountain, and the good Munchkin Country, where the
fruits and flowers grow, is just the other side. It's funny you and I
should live here all alone, in the middle of the forest, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Unc.
"Then let's go away and visit the Munchkin Country and its jolly,
good-natured people. I'd love to get a sight of something besides
woods, Unc Nunkie."
"Too little," said Unc.
"Why, I'm not so little as I used to be," answered the boy earnestly.
"I think I can walk as far and as fast through the woods as you can,
Unc. And now that nothing grows in our back yard that is good to eat,
we must go where there is food."
Unc Nunkie made no reply for a time. Then he shut down the window and
turned his chair to face the room, for the sun was sinking behind the
tree-tops and it was growing cool.
By and by Ojo lighted the fire and the logs blazed freely in the broad
fireplace. The two sat in the firelight a long time--the old,
white-bearded Munchkin and the little boy. Both were thinking. When it
grew quite dark outside, Ojo said:
"Eat your bread, Unc, and then we will go to bed."
But Unc Nunkie did not eat the bread; neither did he go directly to
bed. Long after his little nephew was sound asleep in the corner of the
room the old man sat by the fire, thinking.
Chapter Two
The Crooked Magician
Just at dawn next morning Unc Nunkie laid his hand tenderly on Ojo's
head and awakened him.
"Come," he said.
Ojo dressed. He wore blue silk stockings, blue knee pants with gold
buckles, a blue ruffled waist and a jacket of bright blue braided with
gold. His shoes were of blue leather and turned up at the toes, which
were pointed. His hat had a peaked crown and a flat brim, and around
the brim was a row of tiny golden bells that tinkled when he moved.
This was the native costume of those who inhabited the Munchkin Country
of the Land of Oz, so Unc Nunkie's dress was much like that of his
nephew. Instead of shoes, the old man wore boots with turnover tops and
his blue coat had wide cuffs of gold braid.
The boy noticed that his uncle had not eaten the bread, and supposed
the old man had not been hungry. Ojo was hungry, though; so he divided
the piece of bread upon the table and ate his half for breakfast,
washing it down with fresh, cool water from the brook. Unc put the
other piece of bread in his jacket pocket, after which he again said,
as he walked out through the doorway: "Come."
Ojo was well pleased. He was dreadfully tired of living all alone in
the woods and wanted to travel and see people. For a long time he had
wished to explore the beautiful Land of Oz in which they lived. When
they were outside, Unc simply latched the door and started up the path.
No one would disturb their little house, even if anyone came so far
into the thick forest while they were gone.
At the foot of the mountain that separated the Country of the Munchkins
from the Country of the Gillikins, the path divided. One way led to the
left and the other to the right--straight up the mountain. Unc Nunkie
took this right-hand path and Ojo followed without asking why. He knew
it would take them to the house of the Crooked Magician, whom he had
never seen but who was their nearest neighbor.
All the morning they trudged up the mountain path and at noon Unc and
Ojo sat on a fallen tree-trunk and ate the last of the bread which the
old Munchkin had placed in his pocket. Then they started on again and
two hours later came in sight of the house of Dr. Pipt.
It was a big house, round, as were all the Munchkin houses, and painted
blue, which is the distinctive color of the Munchkin Country of Oz.
There was a pretty garden around the house, where blue trees and blue
flowers grew in abundance and in one place were beds of blue cabbages,
blue carrots and blue lettuce, all of which were delicious to eat. In
Dr. Pipt's garden grew bun-trees, cake-trees, cream-puff bushes, blue
buttercups which yielded excellent blue butter and a row of
chocolate-caramel plants. Paths of blue gravel divided the vegetable
and flower beds and a wider path led up to the front door. The place
was in a clearing on the mountain, but a little way off was the grim
forest, which completely surrounded it.
Unc knocked at the door of the house and a chubby, pleasant-faced
woman, dressed all in blue, opened it and greeted the visitors with a
smile.
"Ah," said Ojo; "you must be Dame Margolotte, the good wife of Dr.
Pipt."
"I am, my dear, and all strangers are welcome to my home."
"May we see the famous Magician, Madam?"
"He is very busy just now," she said, shaking her head doubtfully. "But
come in and let me give you something to eat, for you must have
traveled far in order to get our lonely place."
"We have," replied Ojo, as he and Unc entered the house. "We have come
from a far lonelier place than this."
"A lonelier place! And in the Munchkin Country?" she exclaimed. "Then
it must be somewhere in the Blue Forest."
"It is, good Dame Margolotte."
"Dear me!" she said, looking at the man, "you must be Unc Nunkie, known
as the Silent One." Then she looked at the boy. "And you must be Ojo
the Unlucky," she added.
"Yes," said Unc.
"I never knew I was called the Unlucky," said Ojo, soberly; "but it is
really a good name for me."
"Well," remarked the woman, as she bustled around the room and set the
table and brought food from the cupboard, "you were unlucky to live all
alone in that dismal forest, which is much worse than the forest around
here; but perhaps your luck will change, now you are away from it. If,
during your travels, you can manage to lose that 'Un' at the beginning
of your name 'Unlucky,' you will then become Ojo the Lucky, which will
be a great improvement."
"How can I lose that 'Un,' Dame Margolotte?"
"I do not know how, but you must keep the matter in mind and perhaps
the chance will come to you," she replied.
Ojo had never eaten such a fine meal in all his life. There was a
savory stew, smoking hot, a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of
a delicate blue tint and a blue pudding with blue plums in it. When the
visitors had eaten heartily of this fare the woman said to them:
"Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or for pleasure?"
Unc shook his head.
"We are traveling," replied Ojo, "and we stopped at your house just to
rest and refresh ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares very much
to see the famous Crooked Magician; but for my part I am curious to
look at such a great man."
The woman seemed thoughtful.
"I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used to be friends, many
years ago," she said, "so perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The
Magician is very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to
disturb him you may come into his workshop and watch him prepare a
wonderful charm."
"Thank you," replied the boy, much pleased. "I would like to do that."
She led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which
was the Magician's workshop. There was a row of windows extending
nearly around the sides of the circular room, which rendered the place
very light, and there was a back door in addition to the one leading to
the front part of the house. Before the row of windows a broad seat was
built and there were some chairs and benches in the room besides. At
one end stood a great fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing with a
blue flame, and over the fire hung four kettles in a row, all bubbling
and steaming at a great rate. The Magician was stirring all four of
these kettles at the same time, two with his hands and two with his
feet, to the latter, wooden ladles being strapped, for this man was so
very crooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.
Unc Nunkie came forward to greet his old friend, but not being able to
shake either his hands or his feet, which were all occupied in
stirring, he patted the Magician's bald head and asked: "What?"
"Ah, it's the Silent One," remarked Dr. Pipt, without looking up, "and
he wants to know what I'm making. Well, when it is quite finished this
compound will be the wonderful Powder of Life, which no one knows how
to make but myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything, that thing
will at once come to life, no matter what it is. It takes me several
years to make this magic Powder, but at this moment I am pleased to say
it is nearly done. You see, I am making it for my good wife Margolotte,
who wants to use some of it for a purpose of her own. Sit down and make
yourself comfortable, Unc Nunkie, and after I've finished my task I
will talk to you."
"You must know," said Margolotte, when they were all seated together on
the broad window-seat, "that my husband foolishly gave away all the
Powder of Life he first made to old Mombi the Witch, who used to live
in the Country of the Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to
Dr. Pipt a Powder of Perpetual Youth in exchange for his Powder of
Life, but she cheated him wickedly, for the Powder of Youth was no good
and could work no magic at all."
"Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn't either," said Ojo.
"Yes; it is perfection," she declared. "The first lot we tested on our
Glass Cat, which not only began to live but has lived ever since. She's
somewhere around the house now."
"A Glass Cat!" exclaimed Ojo, astonished.
"Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little
more than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch
mice," explained Margolotte. "My husband made the cat some pink brains,
but they proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she
thinks it is undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty
blood-red heart, but it is made of stone--a ruby, I think--and so is
rather hard and unfeeling. I think the next Glass Cat the Magician
makes will have neither brains nor heart, for then it will not object
to catching mice and may prove of some use to us."
"What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband
gave her?" asked the boy.
"She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing," was the reply.
"I suppose you've heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the
Emerald City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules
all the Land of Oz."
"No; I've never heard of him," remarked Ojo. "I'm afraid I don't know
much about the Land of Oz. You see, I've lived all my life with Unc
Nunkie, the Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything."
"That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky," said the woman, in a
sympathetic tone. "The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge
is the greatest gift in life."
"But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the
Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it
for some especial purpose."
"So I do," she answered. "I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life."
"Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?" Ojo asked, for this seemed even
more strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.
"I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl," said Margolotte, laughing
at the boy's astonishment, "for she is rather difficult to explain. But
first I will tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant
to help me with the housework and to cook the meals and wash the
dishes. No servant will come here because the place is so lonely and
out-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed
that I make a girl out of some sort of material and he would make her
live by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed an
excellent suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new
batch of his magic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so
I have had plenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so
easy as you may suppose. At first I couldn't think what to make her of,
but finally in searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork
quilt, which my grandmother once made when she was young."
"What is a patchwork quilt?" asked Ojo.
"A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth,
all neatly sewed together. The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so
a patchwork quilt is a very pretty and gorgeous thing to look at.
Sometimes it is called a 'crazy-quilt,' because the patches and colors
are so mixed up. We never have used my grandmother's many-colored
patchwork quilt, handsome as it is, for we Munchkins do not care for
any color other than blue, so it has been packed away in the chest for
about a hundred years. When I found it, I said to myself that it would
do nicely for my servant girl, for when she was brought to life she
would not be proud nor haughty, as the Glass Cat is, for such a
dreadful mixture of colors would discourage her from trying to be as
dignified as the blue Munchkins are."
"Is blue the only respectable color, then?" inquired Ojo.
"Yes, for a Munchkin. All our country is blue, you know. But in other
parts of Oz the people favor different colors. At the Emerald City,
where our Princess Ozma lives, green is the popular color. But all
Munchkins prefer blue to anything else and when my housework girl is
brought to life she will find herself to be of so many unpopular colors
that she'll never dare be rebellious or impudent, as servants are
sometimes liable to be when they are made the same way their mistresses
are."
Unc Nunkie nodded approval.
"Good i-dea," he said; and that was a long speech for Unc Nunkie
because it was two words.
"So I cut up the quilt," continued Margolotte, "and made from it a very
well-shaped girl, which I stuffed with cotton-wadding. I will show you
what a good job I did," and she went to a tall cupboard and threw open
the doors.
Then back she came, lugging in her arms the Patchwork Girl, which she
set upon the bench and propped up so that the figure would not tumble
over.
Chapter Three
The Patchwork Girl
Ojo examined this curious contrivance with wonder. The Patchwork Girl
was taller than he, when she stood upright, and her body was plump and
rounded because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton. Margolotte
had first made the girl's form from the patchwork quilt and then she
had dressed it with a patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in
it--using the same gay material throughout. Upon the feet she had sewn
a pair of red leather shoes with pointed toes. All the fingers and
thumbs of the girl's hands had been carefully formed and stuffed and
stitched at the edges, with gold plates at the ends to serve as
finger-nails.
"She will have to work, when she comes to life," said Margolotte.
The head of the Patchwork Girl was the most curious part of her. While
she waited for her husband to finish making his Powder of Life the
woman had found ample time to complete the head as her fancy dictated,
and she realized that a good servant's head must be properly
constructed. The hair was of brown yarn and hung down on her neck in
several neat braids. Her eyes were two silver suspender-buttons cut
from a pair of the Magician's old trousers, and they were sewed on with
black threads, which formed the pupils of the eyes. Margolotte had
puzzled over the ears for some time, for these were important if the
servant was to hear distinctly, but finally she had made them out of
thin plates of gold and attached them in place by means of stitches
through tiny holes bored in the metal. Gold is the most common metal in
the Land of Oz and is used for many purposes because it is soft and
pliable.
The woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork Girl's mouth and sewn two
rows of white pearls in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush
for a tongue. This mouth Ojo considered very artistic and lifelike, and
Margolotte was pleased when the boy praised it. There were almost too
many patches on the face of the girl for her to be considered strictly
beautiful, for one cheek was yellow and the other red, her chin blue,
her forehead purple and the center, where her nose had been formed and
padded, a bright yellow.
"You ought to have had her face all pink," suggested the boy.
"I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth," replied the woman. "Still, I
cannot see as it matters much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be
useful rather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at her patched
face I can whitewash it."
"Has she any brains?" asked Ojo.
"No; I forgot all about the brains!" exclaimed the woman. "I am glad
you reminded me of them, for it is not too late to supply them, by any
means. Until she is brought to life I can do anything I please with
this girl. But I must be careful not to give her too much brains, and
those she has must be such as are fitted to the station she is to
occupy in life. In other words, her brains mustn't be very good."
"Wrong," said Unc Nunkie.
"No; I am sure I am right about that," returned the woman.
"He means," explained Ojo, "that unless your servant has good brains
she won't know how to obey you properly, nor do the things you ask her
to do."
"Well, that may be true," agreed Margolotte; "but, on the contrary, a
servant with too much brains is sure to become independent and
high-and-mighty and feel above her work. This is a very delicate task,
as I said, and I must take care to give the girl just the right
quantity of the right sort of brains. I want her to know just enough,
but not too much."
With this she went to another cupboard which was filled with shelves.
All the shelves were lined with blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by
the Magician to show what they contained. One whole shelf was marked:
"Brain Furniture," and the bottles on this shelf were labeled as
follows: "Obedience," "Cleverness," "Judgment," "Courage," "Ingenuity,"
"Amiability," "Learning," "Truth," "Poesy," "Self Reliance."
"Let me see," said Margolotte; "of those qualities she must have
'Obedience' first of all," and she took down the bottle bearing that
label and poured from it upon a dish several grains of the contents.
"'Amiability' is also good and 'Truth.'" She poured into the dish a
quantity from each of these bottles. "I think that will do," she
continued, "for the other qualities are not needed in a servant."
Unc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her, touched the bottle marked
"Cleverness."
"Little," said he.
"A little 'Cleverness'? Well, perhaps you are right, sir," said she,
and was about to take down the bottle when the Crooked Magician
suddenly called to her excitedly from the fireplace.
"Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me."
She ran to her husband's side at once and helped him lift the four
kettles from the fire. Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in
the bottom of each kettle a few grains of fine white powder. Very
carefully the Magician removed this powder, placing it all together in
a golden dish, where he mixed it with a golden spoon. When the mixture
was complete there was scarcely a handful, all told.
"That," said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and triumphant tone, "is the
wonderful Powder of Life, which I alone in the world know how to make.
It has taken me nearly six years to prepare these precious grains of
dust, but the little heap on that dish is worth the price of a kingdom
and many a king would give all he has to possess it. When it has become
cooled I will place it in a small bottle; but meantime I must watch it
carefully, lest a gust of wind blow it away or scatter it."
Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician all stood looking at the
marvelous Powder, but Ojo was more interested just then in the
Patchwork Girl's brains. Thinking it both unfair and unkind to deprive
her of any good qualities that were handy, the boy took down every
bottle on the shelf and poured some of the contents in Margolotte's
dish. No one saw him do this, for all were looking at the Powder of
Life; but soon the woman remembered what she had been doing, and came
back to the cupboard.
"Let's see," she remarked; "I was about to give my girl a little
'Cleverness,' which is the Doctor's substitute for 'Intelligence'--a
quality he has not yet learned how to manufacture." Taking down the
bottle of "Cleverness" she added some of the powder to the heap on the
dish. Ojo became a bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite a
lot of the "Cleverness" powder in the dish; but he dared not interfere
and so he comforted himself with the thought that one cannot have too
much cleverness.
Margolotte now carried the dish of brains to the bench. Ripping the
seam of the patch on the girl's forehead, she placed the powder within
the head and then sewed up the seam as neatly and securely as before.
"My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life, my dear," she said to
her husband. But the Magician replied:
"This powder must not be used before to-morrow morning; but I think it
is now cool enough to be bottled."
He selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-box top, so that the
powder might be sprinkled on any object through the small holes. Very
carefully he placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle and then
locked it up in a drawer of his cabinet.
"At last," said he, rubbing his hands together gleefully, "I have ample
leisure for a good talk with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit
down cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring those four kettles for
six years I am glad to have a little rest."
"You will have to do most of the talking," said Ojo, "for Unc is called
the Silent One and uses few words."
"I know; but that renders your uncle a most agreeable companion and
gossip," declared Dr. Pipt. "Most people talk too much, so it is a
relief to find one who talks too little."
Ojo looked at the Magician with much awe and curiosity.
"Don't you find it very annoying to be so crooked?" he asked.
"No; I am quite proud of my person," was the reply. "I suppose I am the
only Crooked Magician in all the world. Some others are accused of
being crooked, but I am the only genuine."
He was really very crooked and Ojo wondered how he managed to do so
many things with such a twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked
chair that had been made to fit him, one knee was under his chin and
the other near the small of his back; but he was a cheerful man and his
face bore a pleasant and agreeable expression.
"I am not allowed to perform magic, except for my own amusement," he
told his visitors, as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem and began
to smoke. "Too many people were working magic in the Land of Oz, and so
our lovely Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was quite right.
There were several wicked Witches who caused a lot of trouble; but now
they are all out of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda the
Good, is permitted to practice her arts, which never harm anybody. The
Wizard of Oz, who used to be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has
been taking lessons of Glinda, and I'm told he is getting to be a
pretty good Wizard; but he is merely the assistant of the great
Sorceress. I've the right to make a servant girl for my wife, you know,
or a Glass Cat to catch our mice--which she refuses to do--but I am
forbidden to work magic for others, or to use it as a profession."
"Magic must be a very interesting study," said Ojo.
"It truly is," asserted the Magician. "In my time I've performed some
magical feats that were worthy of the skill of Glinda the Good. For
instance, there's the Powder of Life, and my Liquid of Petrifaction,
which is contained in that bottle on the shelf yonder--over the window."
"What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?" inquired the boy.
"Turns everything it touches to solid marble. It's an invention of my
own, and I find it very useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs,
with bodies like bears and heads like tigers, came here from the forest
to attack us; but I sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and instantly
they turned to marble. I now use them as ornamental statuary in my
garden. This table looks to you like wood, and once it really was wood;
but I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid of Petrifaction on it and now
it is marble. It will never break nor wear out."
"Fine!" said Unc Nunkie, wagging his head and stroking his long gray
beard.
"Dear me; what a chatterbox you're getting to be, Unc," remarked the
Magician, who was pleased with the compliment. But just then there came
a scratching at the back door and a shrill voice cried:
"Let me in! Hurry up, can't you? Let me in!"
Margolotte got up and went to the door.
"Ask like a good cat, then," she said.
"Mee-ee-ow-w-w! There; does that suit your royal highness?" asked the
voice, in scornful accents.
"Yes; that's proper cat talk," declared the woman, and opened the door.
At once a cat entered, came to the center of the room and stopped short
at the sight of strangers. Ojo and Unc Nunkie both stared at it with
wide open eyes, for surely no such curious creature had ever existed
before--even in the Land of Oz.
Chapter Four
The Glass Cat
The cat was made of glass, so clear and transparent that you could see
through it as easily as through a window. In the top of its head,
however, was a mass of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels,
and it had a heart made of a blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large
emeralds, but aside from these colors all the rest of the animal was
clear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful.
"Well, Doc Pipt, do you mean to introduce us, or not?" demanded the
cat, in a tone of annoyance. "Seems to me you are forgetting your
manners."
"Excuse me," returned the Magician. "This is Unc Nunkie, the descendant
of the former kings of the Munchkins, before this country became a part
of the Land of Oz."
"He needs a haircut," observed the cat, washing its face.
"True," replied Unc, with a low chuckle of amusement.
"But he has lived alone in the heart of the forest for many years," the
Magician explained; "and, although that is a barbarous country, there
are no barbers there."
"Who is the dwarf?" asked the cat.
"That is not a dwarf, but a boy," answered the Magician. "You have
never seen a boy before. He is now small because he is young. With more
years he will grow big and become as tall as Unc Nunkie."
"Oh. Is that magic?" the glass animal inquired.
"Yes; but it is Nature's magic, which is more wonderful than any art
known to man. For instance, my magic made you, and made you live; and
it was a poor job because you are useless and a bother to me; but I
can't make you grow. You will always be the same size--and the same
saucy, inconsiderate Glass Cat, with pink brains and a hard ruby heart."
"No one can regret more than I the fact that you made me," asserted the
cat, crouching upon the floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass tail
from side to side. "Your world is a very uninteresting place. I've
wandered through your gardens and in the forest until I'm tired of it
all, and when I come into the house the conversation of your fat wife
and of yourself bores me dreadfully."
"That is because I gave you different brains from those we ourselves
possess--and much too good for a cat," returned Dr. Pipt.
"Can't you take 'em out, then, and replace 'em with pebbles, so that I
won't feel above my station in life?" asked the cat, pleadingly.
"Perhaps so. I'll try it, after I've brought the Patchwork Girl to
life," he said.
The cat walked up to the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined and
looked at her attentively.
"Are you going to make that dreadful thing live?" she asked.
The Magician nodded.
"It is intended to be my wife's servant maid," he said. "When she is
alive she will do all our work and mind the house. But you are not to
order her around, Bungle, as you do us. You must treat the Patchwork
Girl respectfully."
"I won't. I couldn't respect such a bundle of scraps under any
circumstances."
"If you don't, there will be more scraps than you will like," cried
Margolotte, angrily.
"Why didn't you make her pretty to look at?" asked the cat. "You made
me pretty--very pretty, indeed--and I love to watch my pink brains roll
around when they're working, and to see my precious red heart beat."
She went to a long mirror, as she said this, and stood before it,
looking at herself with an air of much pride. "But that poor patched
thing will hate herself, when she's once alive," continued the cat. "If
I were you I'd use her for a mop, and make another servant that is
prettier."
"You have a perverted taste," snapped Margolotte, much annoyed at this
frank criticism. "I think the Patchwork Girl is beautiful, considering
what she's made of. Even the rainbow hasn't as many colors, and you
must admit that the rainbow is a pretty thing."
The Glass Cat yawned and stretched herself upon the floor.
"Have your own way," she said. "I'm sorry for the Patchwork Girl,
that's all."
Ojo and Unc Nunkie slept that night in the Magician's house, and the
boy was glad to stay because he was anxious to see the Patchwork Girl
brought to life. The Glass Cat was also a wonderful creature to little
Ojo, who had never seen or known anything of magic before, although he
had lived in the Fairyland of Oz ever since he was born. Back there in
the woods nothing unusual ever happened. Unc Nunkie, who might have
been King of the Munchkins, had not his people united with all the
other countries of Oz in acknowledging Ozma as their sole ruler, had
retired into this forgotten forest nook with his baby nephew and they
had lived all alone there. Only that the neglected garden had failed to
grow food for them, they would always have lived in the solitary Blue
Forest; but now they had started out to mingle with other people, and
the first place they came to proved so interesting that Ojo could
scarcely sleep a wink all night.
Margolotte was an excellent cook and gave them a fine breakfast. While
they were all engaged in eating, the good woman said:
"This is the last meal I shall have to cook for some time, for right
after breakfast Dr. Pipt has promised to bring my new servant to life.
I shall let her wash the breakfast dishes and sweep and dust the house.
What a relief it will be!"
"It will, indeed, relieve you of much drudgery," said the Magician. "By
the way, Margolotte, I thought I saw you getting some brains from the
cupboard, while I was busy with my kettles. What qualities have you
given your new servant?"
"Only those that an humble servant requires," she answered. "I do not
wish her to feel above her station, as the Glass Cat does. That would
make her discontented and unhappy, for of course she must always be a
servant."
Ojo was somewhat disturbed as he listened to this, and the boy began to
fear he had done wrong in adding all those different qualities of
brains to the lot Margolotte had prepared for the servant. But it was
too late now for regret, since all the brains were securely sewn up
inside the Patchwork Girl's head. He might have confessed what he had
done and thus allowed Margolotte and her husband to change the brains;
but he was afraid of incurring their anger. He believed that Unc had
seen him add to the brains, and Unc had not said a word against it; but
then, Unc never did say anything unless it was absolutely necessary.
As soon as breakfast was over they all went into the Magician's big
workshop, where the Glass Cat was lying before the mirror and the
Patchwork Girl lay limp and lifeless upon the bench.
"Now, then," said Dr. Pipt, in a brisk tone, "we shall perform one of
the greatest feats of magic possible to man, even in this marvelous
Land of Oz. In no other country could it be done at all. I think we
ought to have a little music while the Patchwork Girl comes to life. It
is pleasant to reflect that the first sounds her golden ears will hear
will be delicious music."
As he spoke he went to a phonograph, which screwed fast to a small
table, and wound up the spring of the instrument and adjusted the big
gold horn.
"The music my servant will usually hear," remarked Margolotte, "will be
my orders to do her work. But I see no harm in allowing her to listen
to this unseen band while she wakens to her first realization of life.
My orders will beat the band, afterward."
The phonograph was now playing a stirring march tune and the Magician
unlocked his cabinet and took out the gold bottle containing the Powder
of Life.
They all bent over the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined. Unc
Nunkie and Margolotte stood behind, near the windows, Ojo at one side
and the Magician in front, where he would have freedom to sprinkle the
powder. The Glass Cat came near, too, curious to watch the important
scene.
"All ready?" asked Dr. Pipt.
"All is ready," answered his wife.
So the Magician leaned over and shook from the bottle some grains of
the wonderful Powder, and they fell directly on the Patchwork Girl's
head and arms.
Chapter Five
A Terrible Accident
"It will take a few minutes for this powder to do its work," remarked
the Magician, sprinkling the body up and down with much care.
But suddenly the Patchwork Girl threw up one arm, which knocked the
bottle of powder from the crooked man's hand and sent it flying across
the room. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte were so startled that they both
leaped backward and bumped together, and Unc's head joggled the shelf
above them and upset the bottle containing the Liquid of Petrifaction.
The Magician uttered such a wild cry that Ojo jumped away and the
Patchwork Girl sprang after him and clasped her stuffed arms around him
in terror. The Glass Cat snarled and hid under the table, and so it was
that when the powerful Liquid of Petrifaction was spilled it fell only
upon the wife of the Magician and the uncle of Ojo. With these two the
charm worked promptly. They stood motionless and stiff as marble
statues, in exactly the positions they were in when the Liquid struck
them.
Ojo pushed the Patchwork Girl away and ran to Unc Nunkie, filled with a
terrible fear for the only friend and protector he had ever known. When
he grasped Unc's hand it was cold and hard. Even the long gray beard
was solid marble. The Crooked Magician was dancing around the room in a
frenzy of despair, calling upon his wife to forgive him, to speak to
him, to come to life again!
The Patchwork Girl, quickly recovering from her fright, now came nearer
and looked from one to another of the people with deep interest. Then
she looked at herself and laughed. Noticing the mirror, she stood
before it and examined her extraordinary features with amazement--her
button eyes, pearl bead teeth and puffy nose. Then, addressing her
reflection in the glass, she exclaimed:
"Whee, but there's a gaudy dame!
Makes a paint-box blush with shame.
Razzle-dazzle, fizzle-fazzle!
Howdy-do, Miss What's-your-name?"
She bowed, and the reflection bowed. Then she laughed again, long and
merrily, and the Glass Cat crept out from under the table and said:
"I don't blame you for laughing at yourself. Aren't you horrid?"
"Horrid?" she replied. "Why, I'm thoroughly delightful. I'm an
Original, if you please, and therefore incomparable. Of all the comic,
absurd, rare and amusing creatures the world contains, I must be the
supreme freak. Who but poor Margolotte could have managed to invent
such an unreasonable being as I? But I'm glad--I'm awfully glad!--that
I'm just what I am, and nothing else."
"Be quiet, will you?" cried the frantic Magician; "be quiet and let me
think! If I don't think I shall go mad."
"Think ahead," said the Patchwork Girl, seating herself in a chair.
"Think all you want to. I don't mind."
"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune," called the phonograph, speaking
through its horn in a brazen, scratchy voice. "If you don't mind, Pipt,
old boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest."
The Magician looked gloomily at the music-machine.
"What dreadful luck!" he wailed, despondently. "The Powder of Life must
have fallen on the phonograph."
He went up to it and found that the gold bottle that contained the
precious powder had dropped upon the stand and scattered its
life-giving grains over the machine. The phonograph was very much
alive, and began dancing a jig with the legs of the table to which it
was attached, and this dance so annoyed Dr. Pipt that he kicked the
thing into a corner and pushed a bench against it, to hold it quiet.
"You were bad enough before," said the Magician, resentfully; "but a
live phonograph is enough to drive every sane person in the Land of Oz
stark crazy."
"No insults, please," answered the phonograph in a surly tone. "You did
it, my boy; don't blame me."
"You've bungled everything, Dr. Pipt," added the Glass Cat,
contemptuously.
"Except me," said the Patchwork Girl, jumping up to whirl merrily
around the room.
"I think," said Ojo, almost ready to cry through grief over Unc
Nunkie's sad fate, "it must all be my fault, in some way. I'm called
Ojo the Unlucky, you know."
"That's nonsense, kiddie," retorted the Patchwork Girl cheerfully. "No
one can be unlucky who has the intelligence to direct his own actions.
The unlucky ones are those who beg for a chance to think, like poor Dr.
Pipt here. What's the row about, anyway, Mr. Magic-maker?"
"The Liquid of Petrifaction has accidentally fallen upon my dear wife
and Unc Nunkie and turned them into marble," he sadly replied.
"Well, why don't you sprinkle some of that powder on them and bring
them to life again?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician gave a jump.
"Why, I hadn't thought of that!" he joyfully cried, and grabbed up the
golden bottle, with which he ran to Margolotte.
Said the Patchwork Girl:
"Higgledy, piggledy, dee--
What fools magicians be!
His head's so thick
He can't think quick,
So he takes advice from me."
Standing upon the bench, for he was so crooked he could not reach the
top of his wife's head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking the
bottle. But not a grain of powder came out. He pulled off the cover,
glanced within, and then threw the bottle from him with a wail of
despair.
"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried. "Wasted on that miserable
phonograph when it might have saved my dear wife!"
Then the Magician bowed his head on his crooked arms and began to cry.
Ojo was sorry for him. He went up to the sorrowful man and said softly:
"You can make more Powder of Life, Dr. Pipt."
"Yes; but it will take me six years--six long, weary years of stirring
four kettles with both feet and both hands," was the agonized reply.
"Six years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as a marble image."
"Can't anything else be done?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something and
looked up.
"There is one other compound that would destroy the magic spell of the
Liquid of Petrifaction and restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life,"
said he. "It may be hard to find the things I need to make this magic
compound, but if they were found I could do in an instant what will
otherwise take six long, weary years of stirring kettles with both
hands and both feet."
"All right; let's find the things, then," suggested the Patchwork Girl.
"That seems a lot more sensible than those stirring times with the
kettles."
"That's the idea, Scraps," said the Glass Cat, approvingly. "I'm glad
to find you have decent brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can
see 'em work; they're pink."
"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me 'Scraps'? Is that my
name?"
"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to name you 'Angeline,'" said
the Magician.
"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a laugh. "It fits me
better, for my patchwork is all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for
naming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of your own?"
"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once gave me, but which is quite
undignified for one of my importance," answered the cat. "She called me
'Bungle.'"
"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad bungle, taken all in all. I
was wrong to make you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and
brittle thing never before existed."
"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the cat. "I've been alive a
good many years, for Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first magic
Powder of Life he ever made, and so far I've never broken or cracked or
chipped any part of me."
"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder," laughed the Patchwork Girl,
and the cat went to the mirror to see.
"Tell me," pleaded Ojo, speaking to the Crooked Magician, "what must we
find to make the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?"
"First," was the reply, "I must have a six-leaved clover. That can only
be found in the green country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved
clovers are very scarce, even there."
"I'll find it for you," promised Ojo.
"The next thing," continued the Magician, "is the left wing of a yellow
butterfly. That color can only be found in the yellow country of the
Winkies, West of the Emerald City."
"I'll find it," declared Ojo. "Is that all?"
"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see what comes next."
Saying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer of his cabinet and drew out
a small book covered with blue leather. Looking through the pages he
found the recipe he wanted and said: "I must have a gill of water from
a dark well."
"What kind of a well is that, sir?" asked the boy.
"One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in
a gold bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it."
"I'll get the water from the dark well," said Ojo.
"Then I must have three hairs from the tip of a Woozy's tail, and a
drop of oil from a live man's body."
Ojo looked grave at this.
"What is a Woozy, please?" he inquired.
"Some sort of an animal. I've never seen one, so I can't describe it,"
replied the Magician.
"If I can find a Woozy, I'll get the hairs from its tail," said Ojo.
"But is there ever any oil in a man's body?"
The Magician looked in the book again, to make sure.
"That's what the recipe calls for," he replied, "and of course we must
get everything that is called for, or the charm won't work. The book
doesn't say 'blood'; it says 'oil,' and there must be oil somewhere in
a live man's body or the book wouldn't ask for it."
"All right," returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; "I'll try to
find it."
The Magician looked at the little Munchkin boy in a doubtful way and
said:
"All this will mean a long journey for you; perhaps several long
journeys; for you must search through several of the different
countries of Oz in order to get the things I need."
"I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save Unc Nunkie."