The Wizard’s Garden
“Maybe he will tell me where to find my father’s head,” whispered
Tatters excitedly.
“Well,” admitted Grampa, starting cautiously down one of the silver
paths, “that would be a good turn, but a wizard’s more likely to turn us
to good gate posts or caterpillars.”
“I refuse to be a caterpillar,” rasped the weather cock. He had flown
down and was hopping close to Grampa’s heels. “I’ll give him a peck in
the eye!”
Rattling his iron wings, Bill looked around anxiously.
“Well, don’t forget you’re under orders,” snapped Grampa severely. “No
forward falling, crowing or pecking till I give the word, understand?”
“I don’t believe he’s a bad wizard,” observed the Prince quietly, “his
garden is too pretty.”
“Pretty is as pretty does,” sniffed Grampa. “He’s practising magic,
which is against the law, and you can’t get around that, besides—” Just
here Grampa trod upon a small flagstone path that led across a broad
stretch of lawn and never finished his sentence at all, for the stone
rose a foot into the air and started bouncing across the green at such a
rate the old soldier teetered backward and forward and did a regular toe
dance to keep his balance.
“Wait!” shouted Tatters in alarm, and running after Grampa, himself
stepped upon one of the lively flag stones. Up rose the stone and the
next thing the Prince of Ragbad was bouncing after the old soldier,
waving his red umbrella and calling frantically for Bill. But Bill was
already aboard the third stone, and before any of them had sense enough
to jump, the stones bounced straight under a silver fountain, dumped off
their three startled passengers and went skipping back to their places
in the walk.
“Variable winds and heavy showers,” crowed Bill dismally.
“Scraps and scribbage!” sputtered the old soldier. “I told you that
wizard was a villain. Company fall out!” he commanded gruffly. This the
company lost no time in doing.
“Oh, well,” laughed Tatters, rolling from under the drenching spray, “it
saves us the trouble of washing our faces. But what made them do it
Grampa?” Grampa gave himself an angry shake and marched stiffly over to
the flagstone path. Carved neatly on the last stone were these words:
Gorba’s Stepping Stones,
Guaranteed for seven centuries.
Stand on the right foot to go East, on the left to go West.
Stand on both feet to go South. To go North stand on your head.
“Well, North’s the way we want to go!” cried Tatters eagerly as Grampa
finished reading. “Maybe they’ll carry us all the way to Emerald City.”
“Not me!” snorted the old soldier, taking a pinch of snuff. “Stand on
your head if you like, but I’m going to travel right side up or not at
all. Do you want to break your neck?” he demanded indignantly.
“It would be a little rough,” admitted Tatters, remembering the way the
stones had bumped, “but it’s pretty good magic just the same.” Grampa
grunted contemptuously and tightened the fastenings of his game leg, but
even the old soldier could not stay cross long in this enchanting
garden, and when a moment later they happened upon a cluster of peach
trees he grew quite cheerful again.
“Always did like peaches for breakfast,” he sighed, impaling one on his
sword. Twirling the sword and taking little bites all round, he looked
with half closed eyes down the long vistas of lantern lanes. “I wish Mrs
Sew-and-Sew could see this,” sighed the old soldier pensively. Tatters
nodded, but he was impatient to see more of the wizard’s garden, so
filling his pocket with peaches, he ran down the narrowest of the lanes
after Bill, who had already flown ahead to have another look for the
fortune. Opening out from this lane was a smaller and enclosed garden
filled with the strangest bushes Tatters ever had seen. Each one grew in
the shape of an animal. There were bears, tigers, lions, elephants and
deer and the eyes, noses and mouths were marked by blossoms of the
proper size and shape, that grew cunningly just where they were needed.
They looked so life-like that for a moment the Prince was frightened,
but after he had prodded a lion bush with his umbrella and it neither
roared nor lashed its green tail he proceeded from one to the other
quite as if he were in a museum. And certainly Gorba’s animals were
queer enough to grace any museum.
“Wonder how he makes ’em grow this way?” murmured Tatters, finishing his
last peach.
“Might as well wonder how he happens to be a wizard,” chuckled Grampa,
who had come up quietly behind him. “Why, this is better than a zoo,
it’s a whole blooming menagerie, and if we knew the secret of it we
could travel all over Oz growing deer and rabbit bushes in the castle
gardens and your fortune would be made in no time. But as we don’t know
the secret of it,” concluded Grampa, squinting at his old silver watch,
“we’d better forward march and see if we can find a way out of here.”
With many backward glances, Tatters followed him down another of the
lantern lanes, but they had scarcely gone half way when the hoarse voice
of the weather cock came screeching overhead.
“The Princess! The Princess! I have found the Princess!” crowed Bill,
falling with an iron clang in the path before them.
“Be quiet,” warned the old soldier anxiously, “do you want the wizard to
get you? Now then, what’s all this nonsense about a Princess?” Grampa
winked at Tatters and Tatters winked back, for neither of them had much
faith in Bill’s discoveries. But the weather cock was too excited to
mind. Hopping stiffly ahead and pausing every few seconds to urge them
forward with a wave of his wing, he led them to the very center of the
enchanted garden. There, on a bed of softest moss, surrounded by a rose
blown hedge, lay the loveliest little maiden you could ever imagine!
“The Princess,” repeated Bill huskily. “The Princess!”
“You’re wrong,” breathed the old soldier, pushing back his cap and
tip-toeing forward, “you’re wrong. It’s the Queen of the May!” And it
surely seemed that Grampa had guessed correctly, for Bill’s Princess was
a little Lady of Flowers. Her face, hands and neck were of the tiniest
white blossoms, her eyes, deep blue violets, her mouth a rose bud and
her nose and brows delicately marked with pink stems. Her hair, blowing
backward and forward in the fragrant breeze, was the finest spray of
flowering fern, and her dress was most enchanting of all. The waist was
of every soft, silken flower you could think of, buttoned all the way
down the front with pansies, while her skirts—a thick cluster of
blossoming vines—fluttered gaily about her tiny lady slippers.
“Why!” exclaimed the Prince of Ragbad, “she’s growing in the flower
bed. Oh, Grampa, if she were only alive!”
“I wish she were myself,” sighed the old soldier. “This wizard must know
a deal of magic to grow a little fairy like that. Mind what you’re about
there,” he called sharply to Bill. The weather cock had flown over the
hedge and was hopping so close to the flower girl it made Grampa
nervous.
“But look!” crowed Bill. “Looky look!” Under the hedge and padlocked
to a small iron ring in the ground was a gold watering can. It did not
take Grampa and Tatters long to leap over the hedge after that, for as
the old soldier said himself, the wizard was doubtless away and it was
their plain duty to see that this little flower maid had a freshening
spray before they left the garden. First Tatters tried to wrench the can
loose. The golden chain on the padlock was so slender it should have
broken at the first tug, but it held like iron. Then Grampa tried his
hand, but with no better luck; next both Grampa and Tatters tugged
together, Bill doing his bit by jerking out the Prince’s coat-tails.
“More magic!” panted Grampa, sucking his thumb. “The only way to get it
loose is to find the key.”
“The key,” shrilled Tatters, suddenly diving into his pocket. “Why, I
wonder if this is the key?” Jubilantly he produced the tiny gold key
Bill had taken from the bandit and the next instant he had fitted it in
the padlock.
“Vaga must have stolen that from the wizard when he took the medicine,”
mused Grampa, “and that wizard’s mighty particular with his old gold
can.” He sniffed scornfully as Tatters slid it from its chain. “Here,
I’ll fill it at the fountain.”
“But it’s already full,” answered the Prince of Ragbad, giving it a
little shake.
Running over to the mossy bed, he tilted the gold can forward and
sprayed the little flower lady from top to toe. Stars! No sooner had
the last drop fallen than a perfectly amazing thing happened—so amazing
that Grampa and Tatters clutched each other to keep from tumbling over
backwards and Bill flew screaming into the nearest tree. For the little
flower maiden slowly and gracefully rose from her bed, poised a moment
on tip-toe and then, with a merry little laugh, bounded over to Grampa
and Tatters and seized their hands. Next thing they were whirling round
and round in the jolliest fashion imaginable, faster and faster and
faster, till everything grew blurred and all three tumbled down in a
heap.
“Oh, forget-me-nots—isn’t that fun!” trilled the little flower girl,
jumping lightly to her feet. “Oh, I’ve wanted to do that always!”
“Who—who are you?” gasped Tatters, for Grampa, between loss of breath
and astonishment, was perfectly speechless.
“Why, just my own self,” smiled the little creature, flinging back her
feathery hair.
“How do you blow? How do you blow?” shrieked Bill, falling in a heap
beside her.
“He means how do you do,” puffed Grampa, laughing in spite of himself.
“You’ll have to excuse him for he’s a weather cock and used to talking
to Augusta.” Then as the little maiden still seemed puzzled, Grampa
finished his sentence. “Augusta Wind,” chuckled the old soldier, with a
wink that made them all laugh except Bill, who continued to regard the
flower girl intently.
“Are you a Princess?” asked Bill, with his head anxiously on one side.
“No,” mused the little girl slowly, “I don’t think I’m a Princess,
let—me—see. Oh, I remember now the old wizard telling the birds my
name was Urtha, because I’m made of earth!”
“Go along with you then,” snapped Bill crossly. “We’re looking for a
Princess.”
“Don’t mind him,” begged Tatters jumping up hastily.
“Tell us about yourself, Miss Posy,” cried Grampa, straightening his cap
and feeling his game leg slyly. In the dance it had turned completely
around. “I declare you’re the loveliest little lady I’ve met in all my
travels.”
The roses in Urtha’s cheeks seemed to grow pinker at Grampa’s words.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she began softly. “I don’t seem to remember
anything but this garden. I guess I just grew,” she finished with a
little bounce that sent her skirts flying out in every direction.
“And whatever was in that gold watering can brought you to life. I
believe you’re a fairy,” said the old soldier solemnly.
“No! No!” laughed the little flower girl, seizing a long trailing
vine. “I’m just Urtha.” And using the vine as a skipping rope she
flashed up and down the silver paths so swiftly that it made Tatters and
Grampa blink just to follow her dancing steps.
“What are you going to do now that you are alive?” asked Tatters as she
paused for a moment beside him.
“Just going to be happy in this garden,” replied Urtha with a little
shake of her lovely fern hair.
“I wish we could stay too,” sighed Tatters, for he could think of no end
of games he could teach Urtha, and even the Emerald City, he reflected,
could not be lovelier than this enchanted garden. Grampa gave a start at
Tatters’ words and, suddenly recalled to his duty, gathered up his gun
and knapsack.
“It’s been a pleasure to know you, my dear,” said Grampa gallantly,
taking off his cap, “but we’ll have to be marching on now, for we’ve a
long journey before us.”
“Oh!” Urtha gave a little cry of dismay. “Didn’t you grow in the garden
too?” Grampa shook his head and as quickly as he could told her how King
Fumbo had lost his head and how he and Tatters had set out to seek it
and the Prince’s fortune. Urtha was almost as much puzzled over a
fortune as Bill. Indeed, the whole of Grampa’s story was confusing—for
you see it was the first story the little flower maiden had ever heard.
But Prince Tatters and the old soldier interested her tremendously. She
touched Grampa’s medals shyly and could not admire Tatters’ patched and
many colored suit enough. As for Bill, she blew him so many kisses that
the embarrassed weather cock flew and hid himself in an oleander bush.
Saying good-bye to dear little Urtha was a difficult business, but at
last Grampa, with a very determined expression, shouldered his gun and
Tatters reluctantly picked up his red umbrella.
“Come on!” shouted Bill, impatiently sticking his head out of the bush.
“Come on, or we’ll never find the head, the fortune and the Princess.”
As Urtha had not turned out a Princess he had lost all interest in her.
“But I’ll miss you,” sighed Urtha, and drooped so sadly against a tree
that Tatters promptly fell out of line and began to comfort her.
“You won’t miss us,” said Grampa, looking uneasily at his watch, “you
can’t miss people you’ve just met, you know.” The old soldier was faced
with a problem the like of which he had never before encountered, and he
was plainly at a loss to know what to do.
“I’ve known you longer than anyone else. I’ve known you my whole life,”
sighed Urtha wistfully.
“But you’ve only been alive five minutes,” smiled the old soldier
indulgently.
“Why don’t you join the army like I did?” inquired Bill, who was anxious
to be off.
“Oh, couldn’t she?” begged Tatters eagerly. Grampa shifted his feet and
looked uncertainly at the little flower maiden. She seemed too frail and
delicate to set out on a journey of adventure. “But,” reflected the old
soldier, “if she’s a fairy nothing can harm her and if she’s not,
someone ought to look out for her. As we brought her to life we’re
responsible.”
“Come along with you,” cried Grampa recklessly. So away through the
wizard’s garden marched this strange little army, the patched flag of
Ragbad fluttering from the top of Tatters’ red umbrella and the little
flower maiden falling out of line every few minutes to dance gaily round
a tree or skip merrily through a fountain.
She fairly seemed to float above the flowers that blossomed along the
way, as her dainty feet slipped from daisy to daisy. Prince Tatters
could hardly keep his eyes away from Urtha as she danced along the way.
And Grampa smiled happily at the delight of the two happy young people.