Hawthorne then handed him a signed photograph, as did Isaac Newton,

Charles Darwin, Thomas Alva Edison, Albert Einstein, and H. G. Wells.

Even Stephan Crane and Rudyard Kipling produced photographs.

Mr. Shakespeare was the last to leave. He had gone back to his seat when

Messrs. Twain and Dickens were vying for Graham's attention. He, too,

hugged the boy as he said goodbye, then handed him a piece of paper. "I

have written down the verses I recited to you earlier, my friend--just

in case you are not able to remember them all. It is important that this

be given, simply because so many people doubt my authorship. I suppose

after it is published there will still be doubters, but so be it.

Skeptics have always existed and, I assume, always will. Some people

like to doubt the reality of certain phenomena that appears quite

obvious to others. I suspect it makes them feel secure: something they

no longer have to deal with. Well, good luck, my little friend. I'm sure

you will find your way home. Oh, incidentally, I almost forgot. I didn't

want to one-upmanship Dickens and Twain in their presence, but I was an

actor too, you know--long before those two. You might also like to have

my autographed sketch. You will note the difference in my spelling of my

name and the later versions." He stuffed a piece of paper in Graham's

shirt pocket as he exited.

As the plane's doors closed behind Shakespeare, the flight attendant

brought Graham a refreshing glass of lemonade. His thoughts turned to

Telly, who had been so sad at being left behind. He eagerly looked

forward to seeing the little guy again.

Graham slept the entire trip back. He awoke just as the plane taxied to

the terminal. And who should be waiting in exactly the same place as he

left him but Telly, who was so glad that Graham had returned that he ran

up and hugged him for the longest time.

"I knew you'd come back," he said. "That's why I waited. I knew that the

plane couldn't be going to America. In fact, I still don't believe that

there was any plane or airport or anything. I think it was all some

trick of the Witch to confuse us. Planes simply cannot exist in Oz.

Transportation is either by foot or via some magical contrivance such as

the animated Gump or the famous Red Wagon."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you," replied Graham, waving the bundle of

letters, photographs, and drawings in his hand. "But where do you think

these came from if the whole thing was some kind of hallucination? And

how could I read German words if the words weren't in my consciousness

to begin with? And I certainly couldn't have made up Shakespeare's

words."

"And I hate to disappoint YOU," answered Telly, quite tartly, "but you

might wish to look behind you."

Graham turned to look behind him to catch a glimpse of the entire

airport fading away. Not only that, but the papers in his hand had also

faded away to absolute nothingness. "Oh, no!" cried the boy. "Now I have

no proof of my experience!"

"That's because it never happened," Telly replied dryly.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

THE WINKIE COUNTRY

Oz was as unlike America as it could be, yet also familiar. It was not

very long at all before Graham began to feel almost at home among the

soft yellow countryside of the vast Winkie territory in which the pair

now found themselves. In fact, Graham had come to feel so comfortable

that he had all but forgotten about the evil Witch. He might have

remained content and carefree indefinitely, had he not heard the growl

that came forth from a nearby top-hat bush. It was a most deafening

growl that sounded as terrible as a buzz-saw and as alive as an unfed

zoo animal. Graham shuddered. He wondered what sort of macabre being

could possibly make such a horrendous noise. Then a voice rang out. It

was not a human voice at all, and this made Graham shudder even more,

whereas Telly seemed quite unfazed. (That was only because he was

walking and napping at the same time.) Apparently he had switched to

automatic pilot, then closed his eyes as he drifted into a state of

oblivion.

"Do you remember how the Wicked Witches sent the terrible Forest Monster

after the Wizard?" said the voice.

"Of course I do," answered a second voice, equally unhuman-sounding "And

who could forget the time Allidap sent forth those fearsome gray wolves

after little Dorothy? They could easily have ripped her to shreds."

Both of the voices sounded distinctly throaty and animalistic. In fact,

they sounded as a wild beast might sound, could a wild beast speak

English. It occurred to Graham that this was Oz. Wild animals COULD

speak English!

"And do you think that Witch pulled a good scare when she sent those

angry birds to attack Dorothy and her friends?" said one of the wild

creatures.

Graham could take no more of this. It was obvious that they were

surrounded by hidden animals sent by the Wicked Witch to eat them (at

least him; he doubted they would attempt to eat Telly, since he would be

highly indigestible). He quickly jabbed Telly in his rib-cage to awaken

him to the imminent danger and, at the same time, he stooped over to

grab a yellow rock from the ground. It was not much of a weapon, but it

would have to do. He held up the rock threateningly.

"Okay, wolves or monsters or whatever you are!" he shouted. "I hear you

conspiring. And I know that you are working for the Wicked Witch! We're

not going to give up without a fight, so I suggest that you all go

away!" He smiled with a hint of pride in his brave speech. But suddenly,

there was a rustle of leaves behind him, and a huge creature sprang out

from behind a bush and leaped at the pair. Graham, not wanting to be

attacked from behind, swung himself around to face the creature. As he

did so, he absently lowered his weapon at the sight of two rows of

gleaming white fangs and claws that could easily have torn a little boy

like himself apart in an instant. He realized that the rock in his hand

was a puny weapon indeed for confronting such a ferocious beast. But

nevertheless, he raised it again as a sort of reflex action and thrust

it directly at the teeth of the creature. At that moment, out of the

corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of another set of jagged teeth

and claws attacking from his right. It raised a huge paw and knocked him

off balance. The rock fell to the ground, out of reach. The little boy

watched in horror as one of the two animals stepped forward and looked

at his face. The other one was watching Telly.

"What do you think?" asked one of them.

"Looks like a little boy and a tin can with arms and legs carrying a TV

set," said the other.

"The boy's not all dressed in yellow, so he's not a Winkie."

"Nor is he all in blue, like a Munchkin."

"Or purple, red, or green. He matches none of the Oz colors. I wonder

where he came from."

"Maybe he's from Ev. Or Ix."

"Can you speak, boy?"

Graham struggled to sit up, while Telly just stood and glared

at the beasts. He was not happy with their description of him and was

seriously considering giving them a tongue-lashing, but thought

discretion was the better part of valor, at least for the moment.

[Illustration]

When Graham was able to collect himself, he discovered that the two

beasts walked on all fours and were of the feline persuasion. These were

no hungry wolves or monsters at all. Actually, they were a lion and a

tiger.

As Graham jumped to his feet, the lion sprang backward. "Yikes!" he

screamed, jumping behind the tiger. "Is he g-going to h-hurt us?"

"I don't think so," answered the tiger. "I imagine he's just getting up

to look for some din-din." At this point, as if on cue, a loud growl

echoed from the vicinity of the tiger. Not from his mouth or throat, but

from the deepest recesses of his tummy.

Graham looked at Telly, and Telly looked at Graham.

"Apparently," said Graham, "the angry growling that we heard was nothing

more than the sounds of an empty stomach. So you aren't slaves of the

bad Witch, or sent to kill me?"

The tiger looked a little sheepish, which is not easy for a tiger to do.

"Of course not," he said. "Don't you know who I am? I am the Hungry

Tiger of Oz. Everyone's heard of me. There have been volumes of books

written about me! I am always hungry, but I am not a carnivore. I am

afraid I would feel just awful if ever I ate up one of my fellow beings.

Here in the Land of Oz, as you know, all creatures are treated equally.

I can't stand the thought of eating up any organism that might

ultimately become a friend. This makes me feel bad, too. I am reduced to

a strictly vegetarian diet. I yearn to gobble up a few scrumptiously

delicious fat babies, yet I am reduced to struggling through meals of

tofu-strips and Loveburger. Oh, if only my conscience would let me feast

upon a fat baby just once! But, alas, I am cursed with a very strong

conscience."

"Then I am not afraid of you," said Graham. "What about this lion?"

"He is the Cowardly Lion of Oz," explained the Hungry Tiger. "He's got

a pretty good conscience, too."

"Then why did he attack me like that?" Graham wanted to know.

"I didn't attack you," replied the Cowardly Lion. "I heard you say that

there were some wolves or monsters or something-or-others who were

working for the Wicked Witch. You announced that you were going to fight

them, so I naturally jumped behind you to cower in fear."

"Oh," said Graham. "I misunderstood your actions."

"So," continued the Lion, "are there really slaves of the W-w-w-witch

around here?"

"I heard them talking about how a Witch sent a forest monster and some

wolves to attack innocent people," said Graham. "But ..."

"That was us," explained the Tiger. "We like to talk about Oz history a

lot. We were in the bushes looking for some yummy kiwi fruits to help

satisfy my never-ending hunger when you came along."

"So the Witch isn't after me after all?"

"Guess not," replied the Tiger. "Should she be?"

"Well," he said meekly. "I played a couple of rather crude tricks on

her. I suspect that she'll be pretty peeved when she does find me. I

left her admiring herself in a ... well, a kind of self-induced trance.

It's kind of hard to explain. But when she finds a mirror ... well, I

dread to think what will happen."

The Lion and the Tiger looked at one another. The Lion stood to his full

height, which was actually somewhat larger than most of the lions we can

see in zoos, and smiled a toothy smile. "I'll protect you, my son!" he

snarled. And how he could snarl and smile at the same time was beyond

Graham, but let it suffice that he did do it. "No Wicked Witch will get

'hold of any pals of mine! I'm a raging lion, after all! I am big! I am

strong! I'm the unchallenged King of the Beasts! I am the--" He dove

behind a bush when the Tiger tapped him on the shoulder.

"Er, excuse me," said the Tiger, "but I only wanted to get your

attention."

"Sorry," the Lion said meekly, slinking back into the open.

"I think we should learn about our new chum," suggested the Hungry

Tiger. "After all, now that you've vowed to protect him, aren't you just

a little bit curious as to who he is?"

Graham, seeing that he was expected to introduce himself, told the two

cats who he was and how he came to be in Oz, how he had tricked the

Witch, and how he met Telly, and how they had conspired together to

trick her again, et cetera, et cetera.

The Cowardly Lion shuddered. The Hungry Tiger swallowed hard (an act

that normally comes quite easily to him). Even Graham became a little

nervous as he recounted his dealings with the Witch and was reminded

that he was in imminent danger. "If you two would care to accompany us,

you are certainly very welcome," Graham said to the Lion and Tiger.

"Well, I don't know about that," replied the Lion. "At the moment, the

old Witch isn't bothering us. And if she sees us with you two, she might

decide that birds of a feather flock together, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, don't be such a coward," admonished the Tiger. "She'll see right

away that we're not birds."

At that, everyone laughed as the four headed off into the sunset.

CHAPTER TWELVE:

THE MEETING WITH PRINCESS OZMA

Graham knew that he would need to have a good plan of action if he was

going to get home in spite of the Witch. He looked beseechingly at his

two new-found feline friends. Both were certainly both powerful and

agile. Still, the boy knew only too well that the four of them were no

match for the Wicked Witch. She, after all, had the ability to transport

herself to any land she wished. Possibly even to other planets! If she

yearned to take them in tow as her prisoners, it seemed impossible to

stop her.

"It's terrible!" roared the Cowardly Lion. "I remember when that green

Witch appeared at the parade. She scared the living daylights out of

me!"

"But," added the Hungry Tiger, "what I can't figure out is why Queen

Ozma never did anything about her. She could easily have looked into the

Magic Picture to find the villainess, made a wish or two on the Magic

Belt, and PRESTO, no more Wicked Witch."

"That's puzzling, indeed," agreed the Cowardly Lion with an obvious

shudder. "Could the Witch have done something to Ozma? Maybe Ozma is

under some awful spell like she was that time when she lost her memory!

Oh, dear oh dear oh dear! We have got to save her!"

"Now let's not jump to any wild conclusions," replied the Tiger, a low

growl issuing forth from his stomach. "I suggest that we hurry back to

the Emerald City to ask Queen Ozma for her help. If she is under any

spells, the Wizard or Glinda will help us. If she is not under any vile

enchantment, then her Magic Belt can easily wish away the Witch. She can

also send Graham home with the Belt."

"But what if the Witch has enchanted the Wizard and Glinda, too!"

bellowed the Lion, tears running down his face. "What if she's made

them all into little candy corns or tea bags or Jell-O Jigglers or

something?"

The Tiger's stomach roared at the sound of these food words. "Pull

yourself together and stop talking about food!" he said. "We can't go

losing our heads over things that we don't know for sure. Maybe the

whole Witch-thing simply slipped Ozma's mind."

The Cowardly Lion looked at his chum in a reproachful manner. "Tige," he

said, "do you really believe that our beloved Queen is so absent-minded?

I think we owe her a bit more respect than that. We all saw that

repulsive old woman. You saw her, too, Tige! And that th-th-threat! You

heard it, t-t-too! No, our Ozma would c-c-certainly have done something

to stop that Wicked old W-w-witch by now! And so would Glinda! And the

W-w-wizard, too! None of them would have forgotten about all of that!

Let alone all th-th-three of th-th-them! No, I can feel it in my bones.

She's done something dreadful to them all. They are enchanted or cursed

or destroyed or--"

"Are you trying to scare yourself?" said the Tiger.

"I d-d-don't have to try!" wailed the Lion.

"Can't we go to your Emerald City to find out?" asked Graham, who felt

that all this talk was doing nothing for anyone. "We have to go there.

It's the only way to find out for sure."

"Our young friend has a good head for logic," said the Tiger. "Let's

hurry and get to the Emerald City."

The two jungle-cats could move almost as swiftly as the wind. Graham, of

course, could not possibly have hoped to keep pace with them had he had

to walk on his own. But fortunately, the beasts were willing to allow

Graham and Telly to ride upon their backs. This made the journey go much

more quickly.

In only a couple of days, the green of the city was in sight. In short

order, they got to the front gates which led into this amazing and

phenomenally beautiful capital of Oz. Graham could not conceal his awe

at the sight of the place.

"Home again," said the Hungry Tiger.

"Now we get to go in and see what poor Ozma and the Wizard have been

t-t-turned into!" sighed the Cowardly Lion.

Imby Amby, the Guardian of the Gates, met the trio with a smile of

greeting. "Hello!" he said cheerfully.

"Imby," retorted the Tiger, "will you kindly tell my dear boy here that

our Queen has not been transformed into a gelatin mold?"

"I should hope not!" replied the Guardian. "Last time I saw her, she was

playing checkers with Betsy Bobbin. Seemed to be winning, too."

The Tiger smiled knowingly, then nudged the Lion in a friendly way.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go see our Queen. She will certainly set

things right straightaway."

The trio hurried into the palace and quickly located the young ruler.

She was gaily sipping a cup of herbal tea and having a lively

conversation with the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl. As soon as she

saw her two old friends with the strangers, she stopped in mid-sentence.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You look upset about something."

The Hungry Tiger bowed low before the little girl. "Your Majesty, this

young man, Graham, has come from America and has escaped the clutches of

a very wicked Witch. Surely you remember the parade and the horrible

threat that this Witch spoke!"

"Surely," replied Ozma. The Patchwork Girl impulsively did five

handsprings and landed on the Tiger's broad back, where she proceeded to

recite the following in a sing-song voice:

"_The Wicked Witch was bad, indeed!

Her evil soul was full of greed!

To show her powers she did try,

and on her broomstick she did fly!

She tried to capture everyone;

she thought that it would be such fun!

But clever Ozma and the Wiz

would never let her do this biz!

A wholesome spell has now been cast,

so that old Witch's time is past.

The good old Wizard cast a spell

that changed the Witch into a bell!

She now can make a bathtub ring,

but cannot do another thing!_"

Ozma smiled sweetly. "What Scraps is telling you, in her own spirited

way, is that your Witch was already dealt with a day or two ago. I saw

what she had done in my Magic Picture, and I had the wonderful Wizard of

Oz take care of it in his unique manner. He transformed the Witch into a

cow-bell. She will remain in that form until such time as she has a

change of heart. When she becomes truly repentant and is willing to

become a law-abiding citizen of Oz, she will magically become a silver

Christmas bell instead of the old cow-bell. At that point, we will

restore her to her human form and allow her to live a brand new life as

a new and changed individual."

"A cow-bell," echoed the Lion, all trace of fear having suddenly

vanished from his heart. "How interesting! I remember a time years ago

when the Wizard did a similar trick with some troublesome Imps. He made

them into buttons which would change color when they repented."

"Yes," said Ozma. "As for you, friend Telly, I am sure you will become

fast friends with the Tin Woodman and Tik-Tok. The two of them are

upstairs right now, admiring their similarities and differences. Would

you like to have me summon them?"

"Oh, please do!" put in the Scarecrow. "I'd love to see Graham's metal

friend meet them. If his heart is as pure as that of my dear friend Nick

Chopper's, I know that he will be a very good and wholesome person."

They all agreed and, within minutes, the two metal men stepped into the

room. Nick Chopper, the famous Tin Woodman of Oz, had been recently

polished, and so was feeling especially bright and chipper. Tik-Tok,

who was a clockwork man made out of copper, was always very bright--so

long as his clockwork was kept wound up. Telly seemed to be very happy

in the company of these new friends.

[Illustration]

"I think that it's time to organize a big celebration to commemorate the

overthrow of the Wicked Witch and to honor our new friends!" suggested

the Patchwork Girl.

"A grand idea!" agreed the Scarecrow.

"And I'd like to hold it in the cabin that Tattypoo made for us near her

mountain retreat!" interjected the Patchwork Girl.

"Indeed!" agreed the Scarecrow. "There is plenty of land there. We could

have games like potato-sack races and a big parade and a band or two,

and...."

"It sounds great!" said Scraps, leaping up, grabbing a chandelier and

swinging from it while bursting into song:

"_A party is the thing to do

whenever something pleases you!

I'm awful glad the Witch is belled,

for lots of troubles she'd have spelled!

And I am glad to meet young Graham,

I hope he won't think I'm a ham!

And Telly is a funny man!

I hope he'll be there if he can!

A lovely time we all will spend!

We will not want it e'er to end_!"

She sang in her most dignified manner. Of course, Scraps and dignity are

about as compatible as oil and water, but her words were certainly

fitting to the occasion.

The celebration was a great success. Celebrities from all over Oz were

there. Even the former Good Witch of the North put in an appearance. It

was a celebration of nearly the magnitude of that which had caused the

arrival of the Wicked Witch in the first place, except that there were

no large floats. There had been no time for the Oz folk to construct

any. Besides, it seemed to everyone involved that they would not be

especially apropos under the circumstances.

When the festivities were over, Ozma approached Graham. "Well," she said

in her youthful but queenly voice, "have you enjoyed your little trip to

Oz?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the boy. "And I'm so glad to have met you. Wait until

I tell my little brother about all of this! He'll be so surprised!"

"Graham," replied Ozma, "you can't tell your little brother about any of

the things you've seen here. Even about meeting Dorothy or the

Scarecrow."

"But ..." began the boy.

"Graham," she continued, "Oz is a place that would be very interesting

to some of the people back in America. So long as they know of Oz as

only a fantasy, they will not come to look for us. But our continent and

its surrounding regions are very big. Our territory makes your mortal

continents look like Rhode Island. Because some mortals do not have your

values, and think of no one but themselves or their bank accounts, they

would begin to seriously search out our continent. As it comprises so

much land, they might eventually break through our magical barriers and

invisibility spells--even the spell that diverts them off course

whenever they try to reach us. These barriers have been crossed by

accident in the past, as you know. If a wicked mortal were trying to do

it intentionally, he might find a way."

"But no one has ever done it before," said Graham. "And my brother would

so love to hear about Oz. He'd never do anything bad. I promise."

"I am not doubting the righteousness of your brother. But secrets get

out, and people pass them along. I know this is true. I cannot allow you

to tell anyone back home about Oz being a real place. I want it to be

considered only a silly fairy tale for children. This is our greatest

protection."

"I understand," said Graham. "I won't tell him about it."

"But you have proven yourself by your love for Telly," said the Queen.

"You can stay and live in Oz forever. You will be a citizen here, where

you will never have to grow old. You will never again know sickness, and

you will never have to die."

Graham was taken aback by the offer. "You mean it?" he said. "I can stay

here and be with Telly and the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger

forever?"

"You can."

Graham still seemed overwhelmed. "That would be super," he said. "But...

My family! I love my family. Can't you bring them here to live as well?"

"No," Ozma said solemnly. "That is not possible. You are invited only

because you have proven your value. Even the Shaggy Man had to prove his

worth before staying on in Oz. Your family has not proven itself worthy.

You alone may stay in Oz."

"Then I want to go home right now," said Graham. "I can't leave them."

"I thought you'd say that," sighed Ozma. "But you already know too much.

I can't send you back there. It isn't that I don't trust you. But I fear

that someday you may let the secret slip. Maybe you'd talk in your

sleep. Maybe you'd grow older and be taken in by the terrible drugs and

alcohol which are so common in the mortal lands. These might make you

say things that you'd normally never say. I'm sure it could never happen

to a boy like you, but what if... I'm sorry, Graham. You must stay here.

I have already arranged for you to have a lovely mansion not far from

here. Or you can stay with Telly or whomever you please. You can take

any apartments you might desire in the palace if you prefer. In fact,

you are free to roam as you please. I don't want to have you think of

yourself as a prisoner. I know it will seem that way at first. But I

promise you that the benefits of living in Oz will soon drive those

ideas from your mind."

Graham looked at Ozma. Any sympathy he might have felt for her was gone.

He saw her point, but he did feel more like a prisoner than a citizen of

Oz.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

A WINDOW, A WINDOW

Graham's apartment in the palace was not at all palace-like, and it

looked as if it had not been lived in for some time. But he agreed to

live there. He had no desire to live in Ozma's palace, but he wanted to

have the ability to visit his friends on occasion. He still saw Ozma as

a captor. All he had ever wanted was to go home, and now he knew that he

was never going to achieve that goal. In his heart, he hated Ozma for

doing this to him. The very least she could do would have been to bring

his family here! Why was she so structured about things? This was hardly

the stuff that nice fairy tales were made of!

Graham's apartment was in a very secluded part of the palace where he

would not have to see anyone unless he elected to. There were no

neighbors to speak of. Graham sort of preferred it that way. He did not

want to speak his mind about the cruel little Queen to anyone. She was

so mean that he feared she would make a cow-bell out of him if he seemed

the least bit insubordinate.... So he sat in an old settee and brooded.

He had a good supply of books to keep him company, and all of the Ozian

celebrities had agreed to visit him often. At the time, he had agreed to

these visits. But now, as he sat staring at the wall, he wished that

they would not come. He yearned only to be left alone. But one can,

after all, only be left alone for a short while before he becomes

lonesome. And Graham was not so very long in becoming anxious for some

sort of companionship, or at least some form of stimulation. He went to

a bookshelf and perused the titles on the various tomes that were there.

_The Emerald City of Oz_ was among them. Graham sullenly took it in his

hands and flopped it open. To his astonishment, he found there a

reference to Dorothy's aunt and uncle being allowed to come and live in

Oz to be close to her. Not only that, but it recounted how Dorothy had

come to visit Oz on many occasions, gone back home to Kansas, and even

told people about Oz while she was there! This really made Graham feel

insulted. If Ozma could trust a girl, why not a boy? For the next couple

of hours, Graham pored over the many books that he found in the palace

library's vast collection. Each and every time a person, adult, boy, or

girl, came to Oz, Ozma had always treated him as she had Dorothy. In

fact, the very Shaggy Man that Ozma had mentioned actually had to beg to

stay in Oz! Ozma had practically insisted that he be sent home! Why was

she acting so cruelly toward himself, but toward no one else? He stood

up indignantly and decided then and there to make his way back to the

throne room and have a word with Ozma. That mean little girl would have

a darn good explanation for this, or she would have a black eye!

Graham walked the corridors of the palace for about twenty minutes. But

they seemed to have twisted and turned around. They were not as he

remembered them at all. He wondered at this. Could Ozma have done this

to permanently entrap him? He grew to hate Ozma more and more as the

minutes ticked away. The corridors seemed endless! And none seemed to

lead to anyplace in particular, either. "Ooh!" he said, gritting his

teeth in frustration. "When I find that little twirp of a Queen, I'm

going to show her what-for!" But three more hours of frustration brought

him no closer to this goal. At last, he flung himself to the ground and

looked up at the ceiling. "I hate you, Princess Ozma!" he grunted. "I

hate you!"

[Illustration]

Then, from sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep. He remained asleep for an

undeterminable period of time. He was awakened by a shaft of light in

his eyes. A window! There was a window! He had overlooked it in his

frustrated exhaustion, but now it was evident to him. Oh, it was a bit

high, but he felt that he might be able to jump up to it. He picked

himself up. His body was still a bit exhausted, but he was a young boy.

And in good shape. He made his leap. Then he picked himself up and tried

again. It took him sixteen tries to make it, but he finally managed to

grab hold of the edge of the window. There was no glass, so he pulled

himself through. The land outside was a barren mass of crowded

prickle-weeds and gnarled old trees. Obviously not a part of the Emerald

City that would be mentioned in a travel agent's brochures. But Graham was

determined to find Ozma. He pushed aside the prickling weeds as best he

could and trudged through the dust and muck of the area. It nauseated

him, but he moved on. He thought how odd it was that the Emerald City of

Oz would have such an unpleasant area in it. But he let these thoughts

dissolve as he recalled what an unpleasant queen the place had. After

several hours of fighting against the weeds, most of which were twice

his size, he was surprised to hear a small voice. "Who are you?" it

said.

[Illustration]

"I'm Graham," he replied.

"Really?" said the voice. "I love your crackers. Where are you?"

"I'm in a bunch of weeds," he said.

"Oh? How come?"

"I was trying to find the front of Ozma's palace. Can you help me find

it?"

"I could," said the voice. "But you are about four thousand miles out

of your way."

"What?" said Graham. "You're wrong! I just escaped out of a window in

Ozma's palace a few hours ago! And I know I haven't made any progress

hardly at all!"

"I'm afraid it's you who are wrong," replied the voice. "Ozma's palace

is a long, long journey from here. Ah, here you are!"

A burst of sudden fire appeared out of nowhere; it burned away a number

of the weeds, and Graham saw a clear tunnel through the weeds to open

air. In addition to that, however, he saw the most unusual creature he

had ever seen ... It was not very large, but it looked as if it were

composed of several different-sized squares and rectangles. All straight

edges, nothing rounded. It had thick, leathery skin, and three

glistening hairs grew from the tip of its rectangular tail. The creature

spoke: "Now that I have a face to go along with the voice, I can see

that you are a stranger in these parts. Allow me to introduce myself. I

am he who is called the Woozy. To the best of my knowledge, I am the

only Woozy in the world, so I've never had need of any other particular

name. Happy to meet you, Graham. I hope that you are a nice fellow, and

not some meany who will say Krizzle-Kroo to me."

"N-no," stuttered Graham. "I wouldn't say a thing like that, I'm sure.

But--I have just climbed out a window of Ozma's palace. I couldn't

possibly be as far from there as you say!"

"Yes, you are," replied the Woozy. "You must be mistaken about the

window."

"But Ozma was there! And the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, and the

Patchwork Girl, and Tik-Tok, and ... and everyone!"

"I'm sorry, my friend Graham," said the Woozy. "There is no palace here.

The only building here that I know of is that one that was built by the

old Wicked Witch of the West. The Winkies say that she used to have a

bunch of winding corridors in there that were meant to drive her slaves

nuts if they ever were sent there as a punishment."

"But how did I get there from the Emerald City? Ozma was really mean to

me, so I locked myself away in a room there."

"Ozma was mean to you?" the Woozy said with obvious shock. "Are you a

villain?"

Graham quickly related the whole story to the Woozy, who seemed to be

the only friend (however unfamiliar) he had had around him in an awfully

long time.

"My," replied the Woozy. "That is quite a story. But I fear you were

duped, my friend."

"Duped?" echoed he.

"I think you were never in the Emerald City. Somehow, the Witch sent you

here and created a very elaborate hallucination for you. She uses these

weeds for that sometimes. That's why I was burning them away. I can make

fire come out of my eyes when I'm angry, and these wicked weeds

certainly make me feel that way! Want to see?"

"No," sighed Graham. "So you mean that wasn't Ozma who talked to me?"

"Certainly not!" The Woozy was indignant. "Our dear Queen is not like

that at all! I can assure you that you spoke to a hallucination caused

by an infusion made out of these dratted weeds!"

"Yes, my little square-boxed squiggley!" came the voice of the Witch.

"You have assessed the situation very well." The Witch appeared,

seemingly out of nowhere. "Did you really think I was fooled by that

ruse? You must think I'm a real moron! But I have won! Telly is disposed

of for good!"

"Allidap!" shouted the Woozy. "The fake one from the parade! It's her!"

At the sight of the hated individual, a huge blast of fire burst forth

from his eyeballs. The Witch ducked aside, but not before getting her

face badly blackened and her clothing ruined. "You just wait!" spat the

Woozy at the evil creature. "Ozma will look for you in her Magic Picture

yet! You just wait! She'll make a spell that will send you away for

good!"

"Nope," smiled the Witch. "That's covered. You remember how realistic

my illusionary Emerald City was? Well, I watched and waited for a

trusted friend of Ozma's to look into that silly old Magic Picture. Then

I gave it to him. A very beautiful hallucination! He saw me fall into a

river and dissolve completely. So as far as Ozma is concerned, I am

destroyed. She'd have no further need to suspect otherwise, so she will

not seek me out."

The Woozy was taken aback. But he quickly composed himself and added,

"And Glinda will read about you in the Magic Book of Oz!"

"Similarly handled," grinned the Witch. "Any other bright ideas?"

Another blast of fire issued forth from the Woozy's eyes. The weeds went

up in a towering inferno.

"Let's get out of here!" said the Woozy to Graham. "Contrary to what

some people think, I am not made of wood! I have to breathe, and I fear

that this smoke might be as hallucinogenic as the stuff she makes from

the weeds!"

The two ran away as fast as they could. At such time as they were far

enough from the smoke to breathe easy, Graham stopped running. The Woozy

did not seem to notice, and he just kept right on going and going and

going. Graham was alone again. But at least he was out of the terrible

Witch's reach. Indeed, the Witch was presently having a most exciting

dream about plush animals which could be inflated to the size of a house

and then used as potato-mashers in the thermostat of life which likes to

think about groovy butterflies with red and purple and yellow and violet

whispers in the dark backward uprising theme of the way it really was in

the thunder of the goat farm with lots of yams and a shovelful of fine

white powder that looked like the side of a barn with lots of clocks and

fleas with orange earrings in their hazy green and blue and pink

walking-sticks which were married to some tortilla chips and about

thirty-five orange and brown cabinet-makers with green feathers and pink

fur.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

JEANNE-MARIE

Graham sat down upon the ground and sighed. He was glad to have escaped

from the Wicked Witch yet again, but he felt sorry for his companion. He

wondered what that awful old woman might have done to poor Telly. Could

she have locked him away in a torture chamber someplace? Some terrible

winding maze such as he had just left? It made him feel sick to even

imagine it. He absently sat and drew a picture of Telly in the dirt.

"Where are you, Telly?" he asked aloud. He spoke his question into the

air, and no answer seemed to be forthcoming. "What has she done to you?

I have to know. I miss you, Telly! You are my best friend in this

strange land. I love you! Where have you been taken?"

"Who is Telly?" came an unfamiliar female voice. Graham turned about to

see who had spoken. He was looking as much into the sun as into the face

of the speaker. It was hard to distinguish her features. But she looked

like a fine white horse.

"Hello?" said Graham uncertainly.

"Hello," replied the voice. Whoever she was, she sounded gentle and

understanding. "My name is Jeanne-Marie. Why are you so glum?"

"My friend has been taken prisoner by a bad Witch," explained the boy,

who felt an inexplicable trust for this equine newcomer. "Oh," she

replied. "I am sorry. I had thought that Queen Ozma had done away with

all such vile Witches."

"Well," he sighed, "she doesn't know about this one. This wicked old

Witch has created a very clever illusion that has made Ozma unable to

see her or to find out about her. I was fooled, too. I had been under

the impression that Ozma was as wicked as the Witch. But I was wrong. If

only I could find Ozma. The real Ozma, not just an illusion that was

passing itself off as the real Ozma. Then I could tell her what was

going on. If all that the Woozy told me is true, the real Ozma would be

able to make things right again. As it is, I can't help Telly, and I can

never go home to America again, either!"

The horse nestled down beside the boy. Only then did he realize that

this was no normal horse that was speaking to him. She was different

from all horses in all Graham's experience. She was as pure white as the

driven snow, and her mane was a shiny silver. From the top of her head

grew a long, beautiful horn. "Wow!" exclaimed Graham. "Are you a real

unicorn?"

"So I've been told," laughed Jeanne-Marie. "But I am a long way from my

home, just like you are. I left that area because the other unicorns

didn't seem to understand my views on things. They thought I was strange

and that I was not worthy of the name of the unicorns. But I cannot help

what I am. I yearn to see all that there is to see of this Land of Oz in

which I live. And I wanted to find someone who could understand my

philosophies, too. None of the stallions of my breed took me seriously,

and I have never once felt true love. At least, not until I met

MacDonald Lindsay."

"Who is that?" wondered Graham.

"Well, I haven't actually met him in person," she admitted. "But I

overheard him talking to his helpers one day. He was telling them about

the need for all sentient beings to have a purpose in life. No one can

be fulfilled if he is not in some way making his existence count for

anything. He himself is in control of the finest dairy farm in Oz. He

has vast fields of milkweed that his helpers harvest for him in exchange

for their housing, food, and the occasional game of quoits."

"That sounds fair, I suppose," replied Graham, realizing that this group

was not one which was accustomed to using any form of money.

"Very much so," she said. "And the helpers--a unique tribe of

warthog-like amphibians known as wartfrogs--are highly contented with

their lot. MacDonald Lindsay allows them to come and go as they please,

and he has given each of them a home that is far more luxurious than his

own little lodging. Actually, MacDonald's farm is the only thing he has

that is luxurious. His personal abode is a simple cleft in a rock that

you can see from here in that little hill." She pointed with her horn.

"I see it," said Graham. "This MacDonald fellow sounds like a good

enough guy."

"Oh, he is very good," said Jeanne-Marie. "But very mysterious. I have

not had any real opportunity to ask him, but I think I could be very

happy working in his fields alongside the wartfrogs."

"Have you ever tried to go to him to ask for a job?" questioned Graham.

"No. But I have been in his fields. Indeed, his milkweed is the best in

all the land. It is not just an ordinary dairy-farm product. It is

special. It is chocolate milkweed, and it is as smooth as Chinese silk.

I have been following the wartfrogs and sneaking an occasional taste of

any chocolate milkweed pods that they overlooked."

"I see," said Graham.

"You are welcome to have dinner with me," said Jeanne-Marie. "I have at

least a half-dozen pods that I am willing to share with you."

It was at that point that Graham remembered how long it had been since

last he had eaten. Even then, he was not sure the food had been anything

more than an illusion conjured up by the Witch. It was not more than a

second before he heard himself accepting the invitation. Indeed, the

chocolate milkweed was the most delicious thing Graham had ever tasted.

He thanked Jeanne-Marie over and over for sharing this delightful new

taste-treat with him. He and the unicorn talked for a long while

afterward. He was not sure just how long it was, but he awoke the next

morning feeling quite refreshed.

The unicorn had already gone on her way. But she had left a note for

Graham explaining that she had gone to watch the wartfrogs in MacDonald

Lindsay's fields, as was her usual morning activity. The note informed

him that she would seek him out later that afternoon, if he cared to

stay in the vicinity, and that she was happy to have met him should he

choose to move on...

[Illustration]

After thinking it over, Graham decided that he was going to need help

if he planned to rescue poor Telly from the false Allidap. Hence, he

decided to wait for Jeanne-Marie. He could spend the day formulating a

plan that would allow them to get Telly away from the Witch without

endangering their own lives.

MacDonald Lindsay was a fellow who was in high position on his farm, yet

he gave all of the finest of his yield to others. He was a man who had

few needs, only the knowledge that his crops were bringing happiness to

others. That was all he had ever asked. Yet there was something missing

in his life. Something upon which he could not place a finger. Yes,

indeed MacDonald Lindsay had fingers. Three of them on each hand, in

fact! He was a powerful and muscular troll, for all intents and

purposes. That is, he was from the waist up. From his waist down,

instead of the usual troll waist and legs, however, he had the neck and

body of a mighty black stallion. Anyone born under the astrological sign

of Sagittarius might recognize him as a relation to the centaur. But

MacDonald Lindsay claimed no such heritage formally. "Lambert," he said,

putting a beefy hand on the shoulder of one of his workers, who happened

to be a foreman among the wartfrogs.

"Yeah?" asked the amphibian.

"Who is the little unicorn? The one I see out there in my fields? I have

seen her other times, too."

"I know no name for her," sighed the wartfrog. "My boys and I have seen

her before, though. She only takes a few pods--and only those extreme

few that my boys don't consider worthy of picking or trading in your

name. Those that she takes are all too small or have already been picked

over by the crows. We had once considered making a scarecrow--an

inanimate one, of course. Not like the guy who usually comes to mind

when we think of scarecrows. But that little unicorn seems to get what

she needs from our leftovers, so no one has bothered to send her on her

way."

"So she only takes that which is rejected from my farm?"

replied MacDonald doubtfully.

[Illustration]

"Well," began the worker, "please don't be angry with me. There have

been a couple of occasions that I have taken pity on the poor creature

and left a few better pods for her to find. Please don't get angry, sir!

I only did it because I felt sorry for the poor little thing. She looked

so hungry, and we have so much."

Within minutes, the mighty centaur-like man was looking into the eyes of

the young unicorn. "I--I'm sorry to intrude on your farm," she said

tremblingly.

"Listen, my dear," he said. "You are welcome in my fields any time you

wish to be here. You are welcome to take any milkweed you want or to

help yourself to any of my other crops. I have asked my wartfrogs to

ignore you. You no longer need to feel like an intruder."

"You are very kind," she replied. "You know that I am not from around

here. I am not understood amongst my own kind, so I am something of an

outcast, you might say."

"Not here, you're not."

"Thank you, sir!" The unicorn seemed to be near tears. "Thank you so

much!"

When Jeanne-Marie returned to the little clearing where she had left

Graham, she brought him several milkweed pods, as well as a few cookies

she had picked from the bushes around the base of MacDonald's rock. "He

is very sweet," she said. "The moment I saw his eyes, I knew that he was

special. Graham, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I don't know," he said to her. "But I sure do love these cookies!"

And so it went for the next day and the next. By day, Jeanne-Marie went

to the fields, where she grew more and more fond of the odd stallion

there. By night, she plotted with Graham as to how they might go about

locating Telly. The problem seemed to be that the Witch could have

magically zapped him off as far away as Santa Monica, California, had

she wanted to do so. Finding him would not be an easy task. To make

matters worse, poor Jeanne-Marie had become a tad too taken with

MacDonald Lindsay. The wartfrogs had begun to mistrust her.

[Illustration]

"She isn't even the same kind of animal!" said Lambert, the wartfrog

leader. "She doesn't have any troll features--not even a little around

the eyes! They are totally incompatible! She must only be out to get his

milkweed! To think that I once felt sympathy for that wretched little

unicorn! Why, that cunning little crook even has Lindsay entranced so

much that he has begun giving her some of the good stuff! She is no

longer contented with the scraps and rejects of our fields! She has got

to go. But how shall we do it? It will have to be handled in a sneaky

enough way so as to keep Lindsay from noticing. He has been placed under

the spell of that little siren, and I know that he would never grant us

permission to shove her away from the area."

It was the very next day that the wartfrogs made their move. Under the

direction of Lambert, they went about their work, and it was business as

usual. Then, when one of the amphibious pigs saw the small unicorn in

the field behind them, Lambert called for a halt. The wartfrogs turned

around and went back toward Jeanne-Marie. She was not looking in their

direction, so she did not notice that they were coming toward her until

it was too late to escape. They were already upon her and hurled her

unceremoniously into a harvesting-bag. This they tossed onto their cart

and carried away. "I will sell her to a zoo in some other land, where

they are not so kind to thieving horse-creatures!" giggled Lambert,

showing his teeth. "Now we can get rid of this little troublemaker once

and for all! Old Mickey-D will never know what became of his dear little

charity-case!"

Indeed, it would have been curtains for poor Jeanne-Marie had not Graham

had a sudden inspiration which he wanted to tell her about right away.

He felt certain that he had formulated a plan by which they would be

able to save Telly from the Witch, and he had run into the milkweed

fields to find her. He had seen the terrible wartfrogs capture her and

had even overheard what they planned to do to her. "I can't let them do

it!" he whispered angrily. "Why, this is the second time I've made a

friend in Oz who has met with foul play!" He would have cried, had his

sadness not been so highly overcompensated for by his anger. His first

instinct was to run to her and try to fight for her freedom. But he was

a wise enough boy to know full well that this would be folly. He was no

more than one little boy against a whole farm's worth of strong and

muscular laborers. If he were to pick a fight with this bunch, he would

be sold alongside his friend. No, he would need another plan of rescue.

But he had already come up with one such plan. Now he could give it a

test-run. However, he knew that he could not hope to carry it out all by

himself. No, he would have to have help. And Graham knew from whence

that help must come. With a swallow of anxiety, he headed for the home

of the ranchero.

MacDonald Lindsay was as amiable a fellow as the unicorn had said. This

fact instantly put Graham's anxiety to rest. "Do come in, my friend,"

said the ranchero. "What can I do to make you happy?"

[Illustration]

"It's about Jeanne-Marie," said Graham.

"That poor little waif of a unicorn?" replied the troll-horse.

"That very one," said Graham. "Your workers have taken her prisoner, and

they plan to sell her to a zoo or a circus or something like that."

The troll creature looked at Graham and frowned. Then he began to laugh.

"Ha ha!" he said. "You take me for a complete and utter idiot! No, you

cannot be telling me the truth. My boys are under orders to let the

lovely little waif alone. They would not do such a cruel or vile thing

to anyone, I assure you."

"But I was there, sir," pleaded Graham. "I saw it all with my own two

eyes! They put Jeanne-Marie into a great big grain-bag and hid her on a

cart that they carried along behind them. The big fat one said he was

going to sell her to a zoo! I heard him say so! He said, 'Old Mickey-D

will never know what became of his little charity-case!'" As he quoted

the line, he did his best to imitate the wartfrog's voice. "Please, Mr.

Lindsay, you just have to believe me! I'm telling you the truth!"

"Now, now," answered the troll voice, which was sounding less patient

than before. "I know better. No one on my staff would ever do such a

thing ... And no one on my staff would ever ... Wait a minute. Did you

say 'Old Mickey-D?' My, my. Only Foreman Lambert ever called me by that

annoying name. And no one but he would have the audacity to...." His

heart pounded so loudly that Graham could hear it from across the room.

Then the troll-horse let out a couple of loud exclamations. "Merciful

Frances of Grand Rapids, Minnesota!" he bellowed. "Judy in the sky! What

a fool I have been to overlook it! Lambert has been trying to hide it

from me, but he has been showing signs of resentment against that

unicorn! I should have seen this coming. But you have opened my eyes, my

boy. I have strived--er, striven? Er, I have always made it my strivence

in these fields to ensure that every visiting child and family

successfully explores his own particular creative abilities. I had seen

so many fine qualities of leadership in Foreman Lambert that I closed my

eyes to his darker side. But I can no longer look the other way. It may

not be kosher, but I am going to have to fight against my own right-hand

man."

The ranchero started angrily for the door.

"Wait!" shouted Graham, taking on the role of the calm and collected boy

with a plan.

"Wait for what?" asked Lindsay. "I'll wait for nothing until I see that

lousy Lambert get his just rewards!"

"He will," spoke the boy. "Yes. But not that way!"

"What ..."

"If you try to fight all of those thugs at once, you'll just be

outnumbered. I have a better idea. I know of a way to save Jeanne-Marie

without anyone getting hurt."

"Then spill it, my boy! What is this plan?"

Foreman Lambert took the rest of the day off. He carefully researched

the best place to sell a captured unicorn. He planned to get enough

wealth to buy the entire farm and spend the rest of his days sipping

strawberry daiquiris and conversing with MacDonald Lindsay about the

joys of being affluent. As he sat and pored over the pages of _The

Encyclopedia of Places Where Unicorns Can be Successfully Sold on the

Black Market With No Questions Asked Except When the Salesman Happens to

be a Mangaboo: Vol. 224_, he heard a peculiar clattering noise outside.

Fearing it might affect his own happiness in some way, Lambert ran

outside to see what was the matter. The sight that met his eyes was

hardly what he would have expected. There before him was a huge Ox

tethered to a wagon. One wheel had fallen from the wagon, and the

wagonmaster was jumping up and down, shouting angry expletives at the

ox. "You filthy pile of oxtail soup!" shouted the young man. "You are as

able to locate the proper roads as Dorothy was in _The Road to Oz_! Now

just look what your lack of brains has caused us! You dragged us off the

road, and now we have another busted wheel to bother about! You are just

a lousy old coot!"

"Now, now," said Lambert. "You needn't speak so unkindly to this fine

animal. I'll be happy to take him off your hands if he's such a ... a

coot, I think you said?"

"Yeah!" begged the ox. "Let him have me! I can work on this big farm!"

"Not a cotton-picking chance!" blurted the human. "I need a work-horse

to pull this wagon. If I had another animal, maybe a horse or a pony,

I'd gladly unload your crummy old worthless hide in a heartbeat! But

such beasts are sure to be expensive in these parts, especially to a

stranger like me. And all I have are these forty-eight diamonds, a bag

of square emeralds, and a couple of rubies to spare."

Lambert lit up and became more alert than he had ever been before.

Standing straight up and trying to look as businesslike as a wartfrog

can possibly look, he said, "That is the exact price I planned to ask

for a very pretty unicorn that I have recently acquired by perfectly

legitimate means."

"Are there any other kind?" asked the stranger with a sly wink.

"Of course not." He ran inside to the closet and grabbed the bag with

Jeanne-Marie inside. Coming back to his customer, he handed it over and

greedily grabbed the precious gemstones. "Thank you, oh thank you!" he

squealed gleefully. "And can I get that ox, too?"

"You can get me, all right," said the ox. "But I'm not sure you want

what comes with me." Stepping toward the wartfrog and ramming his face

against one of Lambert's tough tusks (which, consequently, broke off and

fell to the ground), he broke off what became obviously a papier maché

mask. Beneath it, he was actually the owner of the whole ranch,

MacDonald Lindsay.

"Oh oh...." gasped Lambert. "Er, hi, master. I knew it was you all

along. That is why I went along with your silly little game. Had it been

anyone but you, I'd not have left my work for a moment to play such a

game. But no harm done, right? Here, take these little gemstones away. I

don't really need them. All part of the game, though, you know. Well, I

do have work to do now ... Toodle-oo!"

"LAMBERT!" roared the troll in a voice that would have shamed the

kingliest of lions. "You have no work to do here."

"Oh, but I do," said Lambert. "I must take this darling unicorn back to

where she belongs. Oh, yes, yes! Please do not hinder us. I must get her

away from here, where she is such a lovely distraction. Yeah, that's

exactly the problem, my master. Gotta get her home now. Later!"

The troll placed a powerful and majestic hoof on one of Lambert's

flippers. "Excuse me," he said. "But I told you that you have no further

work to do here. Please pick up your toys and get off of my ranch. And

take your disobedient helpers with you. Also, you may have as many

milkweed pods as you can carry. I'll never let it be said that I am

heartless."

"But, master!" stammered Lambert. "You can't do this! You mustn't! We've

come such a long way already! I was up for a raise next year!"

"I'll raise a few things for you if you aren't out of my sight before

nightfall." Lindsay was suddenly calm. "And if I ever see you around

this innocent waif again, I will ... Well, I don't rightly know what

I'll do. But you can rest assured that it won't be very much fun for

either of us."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

CAN'T STAND IN THE WAY OF LOVE

"Well, now!" cackled the Witch. "You thought you'd seen the last of ol'

Allidap, did you? You were so wrong! Ha ha ha! Now I have you in my

clutches once more, and you won't be escaping from me again, I can tell

you! To think, you tried to trick me with a photo of some television

star. But you won't be able to fool me again quite so easily, my little

basket of nuts and bolts!"

The evil woman had chained Telly to a large black platform and was

standing over him in a most menacing manner. "You showed me a picture of

somebody else to make me think I was a ravishing beauty. You lied to me,

you electronic hunk of junk!"

Telly struggled to free himself of his chains, but they proved to be too

strong for him. Giving in, he stopped struggling and tuned in to an old

rerun of _Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color._

"Let me see now," muttered the false Allidap. "I must think this over. I

have to do something appropriate to punish you for your deceptive ways.

Maybe I should turn you into a candy cane and gobble you up?" She

scratched her chin. "No, that would be much too kind. I must think of a

punishment that is more fitting to a ROTTEN, MEAN LIAR such as you

happen to be. Hmmm. Maybe I could transform you into a little brown wart

on the left foot of a slimy old toad? Or a bucket of rotten peas? But

that still seems hardly enough punishment for a creepy little crawler

like you. Oooh! Of all the disgusting luck! If I had only been

manifested with the ability to read! Then I could find a perfectly

lovely little spell to cast on you that would satisfy my need to punish

you!" She stalked to a nearby shelf which was covered with various

bottles of herbs and tinctures. Each of these had a faded yellowing

label, but none of these labels did her any good. It became clear to her

that the inability to read was indeed a great setback. As she pondered

an appropriate course of action, she heard a rustling sound outside.

"What is that annoying noise?" she spat. "Maybe your little pal Graham

has come to let me capture him as well? I will make short work of him,

let me tell you! He was a fool to come here!" She stepped lively to the

door and stamped her way outside. "Okay, little boy!" she called. "I

know that you are out here someplace! Come on out of hiding. Trying to

trick me will only make it worse on yourself. Come to me quietly, and

let us get this messy ordeal over with quickly. Being that you are so

fond of reading Oz books, I think I will turn you into a copy of

_Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz_. Then, as a book does me no good, I will

toss you into my fireplace and watch you burn!"

There was no reply.

"I see," sighed the Witch. "So you want to make things difficult, do

you? Well, I am willing to go along with your silly little game of

hide-and-go-seek. But just remember, my fine and dandy little gentleman,

that once I do find you, I will not be so lenient on your crummy hiding

little hide!" As she searched the scraggly brush that surrounded her

home, she grew more and more agitated. "You may be a pretty good hider,"

she bellowed. "But I'll get you in the end, you just wait and see!" She

searched for a solid half hour before she decided that Graham was not to

be found. "The little fruitcake must have run off in fear and horror,"

she determined. "Well, I will concern myself with his punishment some

other time. Right now, I have the television set to attend to. I will

miss my soaps, but I think it's high time I put that nasty old creep in

his proper place. I think I'll make him into a nice bowl of lumpy

spider-flavored oatmeal and have him for a snack." So saying, she

sauntered back into her home. Once inside, she was met with a sight that

made her more angry than ever. There, on either side of the platform

which held Telly captive, were the two huge jungle-cats. The Cowardly

Lion was trying in vain to unshackle Telly's chains. The Hungry Tiger,

who had been standing guard, saw the enemy and instantly prepared to

spring on her. "You'd better leave us alone, you yucky old Witch!"

growled the Tiger threateningly. "We are taking Telly to the real

Emerald City to meet the real Queen Ozma. Once Ozma hears what you've

been up to, she'll transport you to some place where you can never cause

our beloved Land of Oz any further grief!"

"Is that so?" chuckled the Witch, quickly regaining her bearings. "I'd

like to see the stumbling, demented child queen try that! Maybe I should

turn her into a toadstool to show you that I am the all-powerful one

here. Your foolish little girl is no queen! She's just a flimsy excuse

for a bad one-liner. In fact, you know what I'm going to do to her? I

think I should enjoy making her into a little sugar cube and drinking

her in my tea. But first, I think I should take care of you little kitty

cats. I have heard a story about a little brat named Sambo who made some

tigers into butter. I think this tawny scrawny beast would be a fine

spread for my toast. Yes, I think that should be quite delicious. And

the little lion could become the toast! How delightful it would be to

eat the two of you together!"

The Lion was visibly shaken by this idea. "I d-d-don't want to be

t-t-toast!" he bellowed fearfully.

"And I will not become a pat of butter, either," added the Tiger,

quickly springing on the antagonist and knocking her over.

The Witch struggled for a few minutes and finally freed herself, only to

be knocked over a second time by the Lion, who had summoned up a few

grams of courage in just the nick of time. "You pestery creatures!" she

blurted. "You filthy rotten haggard beasts of bumbling stumbling

stupidity! I will see you both destroyed and I'll laugh about it, you

rotten dirty crummy hateful old things!" Summoning in her rage a

strength she had never before known, she hurled the Lion on top of the

Tiger. Then, grabbing a huge net, she threw it over the two of them

before they had any time to move out of the way. "Now I have you all, my

dearies! All three of that foolish kid's friendies! And I'll see you all

into your demises right now!" the Witch said in a whisper. She was about

to carry out this threat when there was a knock on the door. "Oh, drat

it all!" said the Witch. "Who could that be? If it's your silly

Scram-Graham, I'll allow him the honor of watching me destroy all of the

rest of you!" She went to the door. There, she saw a strange creature

looking at her and wearing a painted smile on his face. "What the

dickens are you?" she said. "You look a little bit like a troll, but you

have a horse's body growing out of your waist."

"I am a sort of horse-troll," he replied. "But that is not important

right now. What is important is that this may be your lucky day!"

"My lucky what?" asked the Witch, not quite understanding.

"Is this the home of Bastinda Slinky Myrna Evillene Allidap?" asked the

stranger.

"Er ... I guess so," replied the Witch.

"Splendid!" replied the ranchero. "And would you happen to be Bastinda

Slinky Myrna Evillene Allidap?"

"I think so," she said, not sure she remembered all of those names that

were being applied to her.

"Delightful!" said the stranger. "Then I am here, Ms. Allidap, to tell

you that today is the luckiest day of your life!"

"Is it?"

"Indeed so! Ms. Allidap, you were selected out of the five hundred

billion applicants to receive a prize of twenty-seven million dollars

and thirteen cents! And, since you were home when I arrived, you may be

eligible for more prizes!" He turned around and whistled through his

teeth. "Oh, boys! She's here. Bring in the cameras." A small, horse-like

creature and a young man with a television camera in place of a head

came running up. "Oh, good. You're here. Mr. Camerahead, let's get some

good footage of our lucky winner in her home. Let's go inside. It will

look more natural if our winner is in a comfortable place on her sofa."

"But ..." began the Witch. "But ... I didn't even know there was a TV

station in Oz."

"Well, of course there is," said the horse. "Where else would Ozites

turn to see their favorite Rankin-Bass Oz cartoon episodes?

We are broadcasting from the peak of Some Summit. Now, come on, let's

be lively about this. We haven't got all day. We have a commercial to

shoot for _The Ozmapolitan_ newspaper at ten after three."

[Illustration]

"Why don't you stand here in front of your television set?" suggested

the camera man. "But we'll have to unchain it from this thing here. This

won't look pleasing to our television audience."

"No!" raged the fake Allidap. "Leave that alone!"

But the camera man, who had come equipped with some heavy-duty metal

clippers, had Telly freed in no time at all. "Now, my dear Ms. Allidap,"

said the centaur. "Please stand still and try to look surprised. If this

all goes well, you may be eligible for an all expense paid trip to Walt

Disney World in Tampa, Florida. That's in the United States, you know.

So it may be possible for you to meet the President and give him any

advice you might have for him."

"But.... Hey...." stuttered the Witch.

"You want him to butt some hay?" said the horse. "I think I'd rather eat

it than butt it. But to each his own. I think we need some extra color

in this place. It looks too gloomy." She picked up a bucket (which had

been carried in by the centaur) in her teeth and began to splash some

rainbow-colored paint all about the room, some of which went directly

into the Witch's eyes. Allidap tried to cry out in rage, but she only

got some paint in her mouth.

"This looks great!" said the camera man. "The color really adds a lot.

The people watching will be happier to see it than the gloominess that

used to be here. Now, let me see... Let's have some creative banter. Ms.

Allidap, can you look excited and happy? Come on, let's see that

beautiful smile."

"Yes," added the centaur. "And hop up and down screaming, 'I won! I

won!' if you think you can handle it."

The Witch was having trouble following all of this--especially with the

paint in her eyes that made it impossible to see anything around her.

But she did like the thought of having won something, so she did her

best to do as they asked. When they seemed satisfied with their TV

footage, they bid her a fond adieu and scurried out the door.

Once a good distance from the Witch's home, the camera man took off his

mask. Of course, as you may have already guessed, it was actually Graham

in disguise. And with him were MacDonald Lindsay and Jeanne-Marie. The

plan had worked, and they had rescued not only Telly, but also the

Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger as well.

"I want to thank you," said Telly, "for coming to our rescue that way.

That was a clever trick, making the Witch think you were there to put

her on television. I wouldn't have actually wanted to televise an image

of her, as it might damage my picture tube, but it worked."

The Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger thanked them as well.

"I think we should be looking for the real Ozma," said Graham. "The

Witch will eventually be out hunting me down again."

"A good thought," agreed the Hungry Tiger. "We shall go and find her

straightaway."

The centaur looked solemn. "I would so love to meet our dear ruler," he

said. "But I fear I may be in for a rude visit from those wartfrogs, and

I think I should be there when it comes to pass. However, I will join

you in the Emerald City as soon as I have sent the wartfrogs away for

good. I will be sorry to be apart from this dear unicorn, however. We

have been talking, and we agree that we belong together. I will be

anxiously looking forward to seeing her again very soon."

"No," replied Jeanne-Marie. "I shall come back to the farm and help you

to rid yourself of those former employees of yours. Then we shall travel

together to the Emerald City."

This was a sad parting for all, after all of the adventures they had

shared together. But it was as it had to be. So they all said their

good-byes and parted, and the two equine-type creatures headed in one

direction and the four mismatched friends in the other.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

A STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING

The four friends had reached a clearing behind which a clump of trees

partially camouflaged a quaint little cottage. By this time Graham was

feeling quite thirsty and thought it would be a good idea to knock on

the cottage door and see if he could obtain a nice drink of water. The

cottage was surrounded by a garden full of flowers and a white picket

fence, and it was all so pretty it could have come right out of a fairy

tale. Graham knew full well that no evil person could possibly reside in

such a picturesque place, so he boldly opened the gate and walked along

the little winding path to the front door, where he knocked loudly.

A minute went by with no response, whereupon Graham knocked again, but

this time quite a bit louder.

"Why don't you just knock my door down?" said a voice behind him. Graham

about jumped out of his skin as he spun around to see a very kindly lady

with a twinkle in her eyes approaching from the back of the house. "I

was pruning my roses in the back garden," she continued, "when I heard

what I thought must be a very rude person banging on my front door. I

gather you must be here on a very urgent matter."

"Well ... not exactly," Graham said rather sheepishly. "I was feeling

very thirsty and thought that perhaps I might be able to obtain a drink

of water"

"Hmmm, I think that can be arranged," replied the lady. "And what about

your friends?" she asked, looking rather curiously at Telly and a little

nervously at the Lion and Tiger.

"Oh, Telly here is an electrical-mechanical person and is not very

partial to water. But if you could wipe his face with a damp cloth,

he'll not only look better and be able to see better, but I'll be able

to see his television programs better. Would you like to watch one now?"

[Illustration]

The lady was more than a little confused by this invitation, but she

obliged by spraying some glass cleaning liquid on Telly's screen and

wiping it with a dry cloth. "Ouch! That stuff stings my eyes!" Telly

protested loudly. But he was happy that all of the dust had been removed

from his screen.

"How about the lion and tiger?" asked the lady. "Would they like a

drink? They don't bite, do they?" Without waiting for an answer, the

lady led them to the back of the house, where a well was located. She

hauled up a bucket of ice-cold, crystal clear water, which Graham took a

long drink of from a ladle which she handed to him. The Lion and Tiger

said they were not thirsty, but the Tiger asked politely if there were

any fat babies residing with her. Graham coughed and choked as the water

went down the wrong way. Fortunately, the noise drowned out the Tiger's

question, and the lady did not hear him ...

With his thirst more than satisfied, Graham proceeded to introduce

himself and did his best to explain his current situation and Telly's

unique abilities. The lady replied that her name was Doré and that she

was both an artist and a storyteller. She then went into the house and

brought out several unique pen and ink drawings, as well as some

beautiful watercolors, which everyone greatly admired. She looked

intently at the Hungry Tiger and said he was a magnificent animal and

that she would like to sketch him. The Tiger could not resist smirking

at the Lion, who just rolled his eyes.

"Now," continued Doré as she sketched away, "I'll tell you one of my

stories if you like."

Graham and his friends nodded vigorously. After all, they all loved to

hear stories. Everyone sat down on the soft velvety grass by the well as

Doré proceeded to tell the story. She had no sooner started when lots of

little animals appeared as if from nowhere and gathered around to

listen. They somehow knew that there was nothing to fear from the Lion

or the Tiger.

"The title of my story," said Doré, "is 'Helen's Smile.' I hope you like

it:

Today was a special day. Not only because the sun was shining, but

because he felt good. It had been a long time since he had felt so good.

He sat in his chair on the porch as he had done every single day

throughout winter, summer, fall, and (his favorite time of the year)

spring.

He was a people-watcher all right. No question about that. And almost

everyone in town had to pass his house on the way to the train station.

He liked that. He knew who worked in the city, who was late, and who

went in early. You could tell a lot about people by the schedules they

kept. This was a particularly beautiful day. Fall nipped the air, and it

felt crisp to the skin. The leaves were just hinting at the change in

colors. He liked this time of the year almost as much as he liked

spring. The heat of the summer had a way of sapping a man's strength.

Fall was different; there was something about the cool air that made his

blood surge through his body. Food seemed to taste better, and the air

smelted especially clean. The women seemed to look prettier than ever.

Yes, sir! This was a good time of the year. His name was Clive, and he

was only twenty-seven years old. He had never really lived in the usual

sense of the word, but he was wise beyond his years. People always waved

and said "Hi" to him, but few approached him. They knew he was a

handicapped person because he was always in his wheelchair, and you

would think people would want to chat and be cheerful around him so he

would feel good, but few ever did. It was his face that bothered them.

It was deformed. This was a source of great pain to his mother, who

always carried a cloak of guilt about her. His eyes were set very far

apart and bulged. Many of the children on their way to school called him

"Frog." They'd shout, "Hey, Froggy-Froggy! Hey, Mr. Frog!" and make loud

croaking sounds. They never knew the pain it caused him. A few children,

however, were far more sensitive and loving and would wave and smile and

sometimes come right up to him and say, "Hi, Clive. How are you today?"

This made him feel happy again.

Clive's mouth was large and hung loosely at the ends. Somehow nature had

forgotten to give him all his facial muscles. For all his many emotions,

his face only reflected one. To watch him try to smile was painful. His

shriveled body was even sadder to observe. This day, Clive sat and

watched Helen pass by. He thought she had to be the most beautiful

person in the world. Surely a prettier girl could not exist. He watched

her intently, as he had done for the past six years. She walked by and

did not look his way, as usual. She always knew he was there. She had

sneaked a peak at him once and was so repulsed that she could not bring

herself to look again. Yet she knew how he felt about her. She could

feel it as she walked by. At first she felt afraid passing by. She even

tried taking a different route to the station. But after a while she

felt silly. So she passed his house with her head held high and her eyes

straight ahead.

As the years passed, she found out about the "cripple" who sat on his

porch all day. It was a sad story: Apparently, the father couldn't cope

with a deformed baby, so he deserted the family. The mother was a simple

country-girl. She was forced to take in wash and to clean other people's

houses. But she managed to support herself and her deformed child. She

was a quiet woman who minded her own business. She rarely spoke. But she

could polish silver and furniture like no other person and so she had

plenty of work. In time, she was able to afford her own house. They had

lived in that house on Mulberry Street for twenty years. It was always

clean and neat. On rare occasions, Helen saw the mother shopping. The

mother was so thin and gaunt. How did she manage to lift that son of

hers?

As Helen passed the house that bright fall morning, she wondered if the

man could stand up or walk. "Helen! Helen! You look so pretty today!"

The young woman stopped dead in her tracks. Who spoke? She looked around

her. No one that she could see was there--except the person on the

porch. Was it him? No ... It couldn't be. She had heard that he knew how

to speak, but that he was very difficult to understand. But this voice

was pleasant and articulate. Very masculine, too. _Is someone hiding

behind a bush? No. I'm being silly_, she thought. _I must have imagined

it._ She looked around one more time, yet carefully avoiding looking at

the figure on the porch.

"Helen, why do you always ignore me?"

Again she stopped. This time she did not look around. She knew. "Yes.

You are right. It is me. I have finally gotten up enough courage to talk

to you. It has taken me years. Can't you turn around just this once and

smile at me? It won't hurt you. You are so lovely, more lovely than even

the moon, the stars, and all the flowers in the world. Today I am going

to die. Yes! Really! I am so happy. It is such a special day. I knew I

was going to die three days ago, and I prayed to God that, before I

died, I could just see Helen smile. He gave me the 'gift' of speaking

into your mind for just this one special day. And He promised that I

could speak articulately if what I said came from the heart. I know you

can hear me. Please. I love you so much ... Won't you turn and smile at

me? Just this once?"

Helen stood rooted to the spot. She knew she was experiencing something

abnormal. She was frightened. _How does he know he is going to die?

That's impossible! But it's also impossible to hear a voice inside your

head, and I know I'm hearing it! Oh, God! Dare I do it? Can I look at

him? He's so ugly--so unbearably ugly! But how sad. It was a beautiful

thing he said to me. What if I do smile? Will he expect me to smile

every day? No! I can't do that. Next he'll ask me to come up to the

porch and chat. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't!_ Yet her heart went out

to him. _What loneliness he must feel. I'll smile just this once, and

then tomorrow I'll take the other route_. She gathered all her willpower

and slowly turned around, smiling. At that moment she could feel a

tremendous surge of love radiate towards her and envelope her entire

being. The sun was shining so brightly that it momentarily blinded her,

so she really couldn't see his face, but nevertheless she kept smiling

for a moment or two. Then she turned and continued on her way.

It was now several weeks since she had changed her route. By now she was

convinced that she had only imagined the voice. Yet she could not bring

herself to walk down his street again. It was another glorious day.

Helen had the day off and was going shopping. She was standing at the

checkout counter when she felt a light touch on her arm. She turned and

drew in her breath. It was HIS mother!

"Hello," said the mother in a soft voice. "I don't want to trouble you,

but I just want to tell you something I promised my son before he died."

Helen's heart skipped a beat. "He died?"

"Yes, dear. He died several weeks ago. He had been sitting out on the

porch as usual when he called out to me and told me you had smiled at

him. Dear, you made him so happy. He asked me to tell you something.

Then he slumped over and died. Just like that. Don't feel sad, dear. It

was a blessing. He did not believe that death was the end. He believed

that he would receive a fine new body."

"What did he say?"

The mother looked up at her, the most pleasant smile crossing her face.

"He said to thank you for your smile. And to tell you that someday he

will meet you again and it will be a different story. Your smile made

his life worthwhile, and he died a very, very happy man."

Helen felt a sadness creeping over her. _It was only a smile_, she

thought. _Now I am sorry I didn't smile before. It was such a little

thing for me to give. But from now on I will smile more often. I'll do

it for him_. "Thank you for telling me," she said aloud. "Your son must

have been a good man in his heart. If there is anything I can do, please

let me know." They both smiled at each other, for each knew that she had

found a new friend.

The End"

"What a lovely story," Graham said. "Don't you think so, Telly?" he

asked, turning to his friend. But Telly was crying like a baby. Tears

were flowing in gushes down his screen and splashing off his metallic

boots.

Doré produced a wad of tissues and dried his eyes. "You're likely to get

a short circuit," she said. "By the way, I'd be delighted to have you

join me for supper before you continue on your journey." With that,

everyone went inside, with Telly asking question after question. After

supper, everyone went out to the porch to talk. Graham sat on one of

those swinging seats and became lost in thought as he swung gently back

and forth. "Penny for your thoughts?" said Doré, sensing that the boy

was a little sad.

"Oh, I was just wondering if I will ever find a way to get home. I think

Oz is a very interesting place, with lots of incredibly wonderful people

(except for that old Witch), but I am getting very homesick, and I miss

my family terribly. Not only that, but they are probably worried sick

and have probably called the police about their missing child."

"Well," replied Doré, "you just happen to be in the right place ... You

see that old well where you quenched your thirst? Well, it's a wishing

well. A real, true wishing well. And if you throw in a coin and make a

sincere unselfish wish, your wish will come true instantly. Of course,

you only get one guaranteed wish, but if you make a second wish, you

have an eighty percent chance of that coming true, also."

Graham immediately perked up as Doré's words sank in. Then he became

crestfallen as his eyes fell upon Telly's forlorn face, not to mention

the disappointment reflected in the faces of the Cowardly Lion and the

Hungry Tiger. He had made a wonderful new friend in Telly and was just

getting to know the others, and now they were going to be

separated--perhaps forever.

Doré, quickly realizing what the situation was, offered her condolences

but assured Graham that if he were to make that second wish with great

sincerity, there was a very good chance he could come back for a visit.

With that, Graham shook hands with everyone and gave them each a big

hug. He then threw a penny into the well as he made his two wishes. "I

wish to go back home," and "I wish to come back to Oz someday for a

visit." Then, as he waved goodbye to everyone, he slowly became

invisible, only to reappear for a second, then slowly disappear again.

This happened two or three times as Doré explained to Telly that the

magic was working all right but that Graham's mixed feelings on the

matter were delaying the final teleportation. Just then, there was a

large black shadow overhead and a sudden WHOOSH! as a projectile whizzed

past Graham's head. Back and forth it went, to reveal none other than

the Wicked Witch on her broomstick, grabbing for Graham as she passed

him.

"SO, LITTLE MAN. THOUGHT YOU'D ESCAPE FROM ME, EH? I DON'T THINK SO, MY

FINE FEATHERED FRIEND!" She wailed like a banshee as she finally grabbed

him by the shoulder and shook him as he desperately tried to escape. In

the distance Graham fancied he could hear his mother's voice calling

him.

"Graham! Graham!" His eyes--which had been shut tightly as the Witch

shook him--opened to see with great surprise his mother's face as she

also shook him. "Wake up! Wake up! Don't you know it's twelve midnight?

And you haven't even done your homework! Your father will be having

serious words with you in the morning, young man. Now, up to your room

immediately!"

Graham had not been expecting to come home to such a tongue-lashing, but

he was very happy to finally be back home after so many harrowing

experiences. Ever since he had first been abducted to Oz, he had

considered it his mission to get home again. The wishing well had made

it possible.

But as Graham turned out the light beside his bed that night and laid

his head against his pillow, he began to think over the events that he

had experienced in Oz. Of course he had wanted to get home to his

family. It only made sense that he would. He was only twelve and he

needed them. Not only that, but they would be worried sick. He had made

a sensible wish. Or had he? As he lay on his bed, it occurred to him that

he might have used his penny to wish away the wicked witch and save Oz.

A feeling of guilt began to gnaw at him. Had he actually used his penny

to desert his friends when they needed him most? He realized then what a

selfish act that had been. _Not entirely selfish_, he thought. _I was

thinking of my family as much as myself_. But he knew that he was making

excuses and that he should have wished more wisely. As he slowly drifted

off into a troubled sleep, he saw images of the Cowardly Lion, the

Hungry Tiger, Telly, Jeanne-Marie, MacDonald Lindsay, Doré, and many

other Oz folk pass before his eyes.

[Illustration]

The following day, Graham's mother was sorting the boy's dirty clothes

for the wash when she noticed an ink stain on his shirt pocket. She

checked the pocket and found a piece of paper with some kind of smudged

drawing and words below the sketch that she could not make out without

her reading glasses. It looked like, something ... speare. Without a

thought, she crumpled it up into a ball and threw it in the trash.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

End of Project Gutenberg's Abducted to Oz, by Bob Evans and Chris Dulabone