The Finding of Fumbo’s Head!
For an hour the three crows and Invisi-Bill flew steadily over the
Nonestic Ocean, and flying was so unusual and pleasant a sensation that
they were too interested to talk. Besides, Grampa had warned them in the
beginning to keep all their strength for flying, for there was no
telling how long they would remain crows and it would be extremely
dangerous to change back while up in the air and over the ocean. So,
except for the occasional calls of Bill to let them know which way to
go, they crossed the great ocean in silence.
“Land!” screamed the weather cock, as the rocky shores of Ev came into
view.
“Well, that’s over!” cawed Grampa, alighting thankfully on a rough
cliff. “Now we must cross this country and the sandy desert. Anybody
tired?”
Urtha and Tatters shook their heads and no one could see what Bill did,
so after a few minutes’ rest they rose into the air again and flew
swiftly over Ev—on and on until they reached the great desert that
entirely surrounds the magic Kingdom of Oz.
“Fly higher!” commanded the old soldier, for he had read so much of the
deadly nature of this desert that he wanted to be as far above it as
possible. So the little flock of crows and Invisi-Bill soared high into
the air and they crossed the desert even faster than they had crossed
the Nonestic Ocean, fear lending speed to their wings. And when at last
the lovely land of the Winkies spread out below them, the old soldier
gave a crow of delight. “Just keep on this way and we’ll be in the
Emerald City by noon time!” exulted Grampa. “Forward for Ragbad and
Oz!”
“And flying is such fun,” chuckled Urtha, circling close to the old
soldier. “I don’t care how long I am a crow. But, oh Mr Grampa, there’s
a gun sticking through your feathers.”
“What?” croaked the old soldier in alarm.
“I feel heavy,” spluttered Tatters suddenly, and Grampa saw that from
the waist down he was Tatters and from the waist up he still was crow.
“Down! Everybody down! Down as fast as you can fly,” ordered the old
soldier in a panic. He himself could feel his feathers turning to
clothes and his wings seemed too light to hold up his body. Half flying
and half falling, half people and half crows, the little company shot
downward, and it is mighty lucky they started down when they did. As it
was, they turned back to themselves and landed at one and the same
minute, and the landing was so hard that, for a moment, no one spoke at
all. The old soldier broke the silence.
“Why, there’s Bill,” cried Grampa, who was sitting calmly in the middle
of a yellow rose bush. He had grown somewhat used to falling about by
this time. “How do you feel, Bill?” asked the old soldier, extracting
several thorns from his person.
“How do I look?” asked the weather cock anxiously.
“Handsome as ever,” said Grampa, eying him closely. “Being invisible
hasn’t hurt you at all, and how are the rest of my old cronies?”
“I’m all right,” smiled Urtha, jumping up lightly. The little flower
maiden was looking as beautiful as ever.
“So am I,” said Tatters, “but I’d like to know how we happened to turn
crow, and whether it’s going to happen often. You know, Grampa, it would
be mighty inconvenient to be turning backwards and forwards any minute.
I am sure it would be very unpleasant.”
“Well, it helped us over a couple of bad places,” mused the old soldier.
“The mischief, boys! I’ve lost my pipe!” Grampa clapped one hand to
his pocket and the other to his chin.
“You dropped it when you were a crow,” Tatters reminded him. Grampa did
not answer, for out of his pocket he had drawn the blue tobacco pouch of
Vaga, the bandit. In the excitement following Bill’s disappearance all
the tobacco had spilled out, but the pouch Grampa had thrust into his
pocket just before he turned crow. Here, at any rate, it was, and on the
flap this amazing sentence: “To turn people to crows, smoke this
tobacco. One puff will keep a company of captives crows for one hour,
two puffs, two hours, three puffs for three hours, and so on.”
“So that’s the reason there were so many crows in the blue forest!”
shouted Grampa indignantly. “So that’s why we turned to crows. It’s
three hours to the minute,” he puffed, pulling out his watch.
“What _are_ you talking about?” asked Tatters crossly.
“Us,” chuckled Grampa. “It was the bandit’s tobacco that did the trick.”
Showing them the blue pouch, he explained how he had smoked the magic
tobacco instead of his own and how just three puffs had kept them crows
for three hours. “A couple more puffs and we’d have been all the way to
the Emerald City,” sighed the old soldier regretfully. “How-some-ever,
marching is more to my taste.”
“What about eating? That’s more to mine.” Tatters yawned—for flying had
made him quite hungry.
“All right,” agreed Grampa, and, unfastening his knapsack, he took out
one of the dried bear steaks and busied himself with making a fire.
Fortunately they had lost none of their possessions by turning to
crows—that is nothing except Grampa’s pipe.
“I love this country,” said Urtha, sitting solemnly beside the old
soldier. “I believe I like Oz better than the wizard’s garden.”
“It’s the top of the world,” boasted Grampa, dropping the steak into his
campaign frying pan. Tatters, meanwhile, had found a pink plum tree and
came back with his cap full of plums, so that he and Grampa had a most
satisfying luncheon. Bill, as usual, was searching for the fortune and,
while they were eating, Urtha merrily skipped rope with a long spray of
honeysuckle.
“Cheer up, boy,” said the old soldier, for the Prince was looking rather
thoughtful. “We’re on the right track now and only a day’s march from
the capitol.”
“Storm coming! Storm coming!” shrilled the weather cock, dropping down
suddenly beside the fire. “Wind! Thunder and possible showers!”
“Oh, g’wan!” scoffed Grampa, gathering up his tin camp dishes. “You
g’wan, Bill.”
“I don’t want to go on,” said the weather cock stubbornly. “There’s a
storm coming, I tell you.” And sure enough, at that minute, a great
gust of wind scattered the camp fire, blew off Grampa’s hat and sent a
cloud of leaves scurrying over the meadows. Tatters reached for his red
umbrella, which was never far from his side and Urtha, her flowery
skirts flying out like ribbons on a May pole, came hurrying back.
“I’ve thought of something!” screamed Bill. He had to scream to make
himself heard, for the wind had risen to a perfect gale. “If the King’s
head was lost in a storm, why wouldn’t it be found in a storm!”
“Snuff and nonsense!” shouted the old soldier, picking up his hat and
jamming it over his ears. Then, as the first spatter of rain came
pelting down, he dashed under the big red umbrella. Tatters had all he
could do to hold it steady and several times the wind nearly jerked him
into the air. So Grampa seized the handle with both hands and Urtha,
also, took hold.
But it was no use. The gale was too much for them and before they had
time to let go, the red umbrella whirled up like a balloon, carrying
them all along.
“Here I come by the name of Bill!” shrieked the weather cock and,
flinging himself aloft, he scrambled on top of the King’s umbrella. But
even Bill’s weight could not bring it down.
“Why this,” laughed the little flower fairy, as the umbrella soared up
toward the clouds, “this is better than flying!”
“Better hold on,” advised Grampa grimly, “there’s nothing between us and
earth, but air.” The wind rose higher and higher, the rain swirled all
around them and tossed them about like rag dolls. The three clung
desperately to the umbrella but in ten minutes they had risen above the
storm area and were sailing straight toward a great patch of pink
skyland. About halfway over, the umbrella drifted slowly downward and
Grampa and Tatters, rather uncertainly, stood up in the pink clouds.
“Will we drop through?” asked the Prince doubtfully, still keeping hold
of the umbrella. After a few steps they found it quite as secure as the
real earth.
“How soft it feels,” murmured Urtha and, letting go of the umbrella, she
began skipping over the fluffy cloud meadows, posies springing up
wherever she stepped, just as they had on Isa Poso. And so fresh and
beautiful did the little flower girl appear against the pink of the
clouds that Grampa and Tatters simply gasped and a little sky
shepherdess, who had been resting on a cloud bank, picked up her crook
and came running over to touch Urtha.
“Are you a fairy?” asked the little shepherdess breathlessly.
“Are you a Princess?” demanded Bill, fluttering down in front of the
little sky lady before Urtha had time to speak at all. Bill never
allowed anything to interfere with business.
“Oh, no!” The cunning little lady swung her moon bonnet and fluffed out
her skirts, which were all embroidered with stars. “Oh, no, I’m only a
shepherdess!” she answered modestly.
“Well, we’re looking for a head, a Princess and a fortune,” rasped Bill
impatiently.
“What do you shepherd?” asked the old soldier, pushing Bill hurriedly
aside. “I didn’t know there were any sheep in the sky.”
“Not sheep,” cried the little maiden, throwing back her head and
laughing heartily, “not sheep, but stars! I tend all the baby stars and
keep them from falling out of the Milky Way,” she finished, smiling
shyly at Tatters.
“You do,” marvelled the Prince of Ragbad, “well, where are they now and
what do you call yourself?”
“I never call myself, but the stars call me Maribella,” answered the
little shepherdess, with a demure bow. “They’re asleep now. Are you
_really_ looking for a Princess?”
Tatters nodded and Urtha, slipping her arms around Maribella’s waist,
kissed her on both cheeks.
“I wish you were the Princess,” sighed Urtha, stepping back to look
wistfully at the little sky maiden.
“Why?” asked Maribella curiously.
“Because you’re the only one we’ve seen who is lovely enough to marry
the Prince,” said Urtha. Tatters looked mightily embarrassed at Urtha’s
speech and Grampa, drawing Maribella aside told her the whole story of
their adventures.
“Well,” mused the little sky maiden as he finished, “there aren’t any
Princesses or fortunes in the sky, but there are lots of heads here in
the clouds.”
“There are!” roared Grampa in astonishment. Maribella nodded.
“Didn’t you know many earth people have their heads in the clouds?” she
asked seriously. “Why there’s a whole company of them on the other side
of this very hill.”
“Forward, march!” cried the old soldier excitedly. “Urtha, Tatters,
Bill, fall in with you!” So fall in they did, and Maribella was right,
for on the other side of the cloud hill were nearly a hundred heads,
resting lightly on the pink clouds. Some were smoking, some stared
straight ahead and others were carrying on a lively conversation between
themselves.
“Father!” screamed the Prince of Ragbad, for King Fumbo’s head was
almost the first they spied. Fumbo was talking quietly to the head of an
inventor of market baskets with legs and he turned in some surprise at
Tatters’ call.
“The head! The head! We have found the head!” crowed Bill exultantly,
and burst into such a hurrah of cock-a-doodle-doos that several of the
smokers dropped their pipes and King Fumbo looked positively frightened.
“Your Majesty,” said Grampa reproachfully, as Bill finally subsided,
“how could you leave us like this? We’ve been through earth, air, fire
and water to find you.”
“Well, I guess the jig’s up,” sighed Fumbo sorrowfully, “but it’s been a
great treat, Grampa, getting off like this. How’s everybody?”
“Everybody was well enough when I left,” said Grampa a bit stiffly, for
he couldn’t help feeling that Fumbo could have got home if he had wanted
to. “Everybody’s well enough, except your own body and that looks mighty
silly with the doughnut they have given it.”
“So they gave me a dough head! Well, won’t that do?” asked the King
fretfully of the old soldier.
“Oh, father, please come back,” begged Tatters, falling on his knees
before the King’s head.
“You must certainly resume your body,” declared the old soldier sternly.
“How did you get up here in the first place?”
“It was the storm,” began Fumbo, rolling his eyes from one to the other.
“My head never was on very tight, you know.”
Grampa nodded dryly. “So it blew off,” continued the King calmly, “and
then I had on a wing collar,” Fumbo coughed apologetically, “and the
thing flew right well, so I flew till I came to this cloud and here I’ve
been ever since. I suppose I must go back if you say so, but it’s a poor
business, old fellow. How are you going to get down from here? How did
you get up? Who is this little Miss Rosy Posy and that iron billed bird
you have with you?”
“This is Urtha,” explained Tatters proudly. “We found her in an
enchanted garden. And that’s Bill. We found him in the blue forest
and—oh, father, we’ve had such strange adventures.”
“Tell me all!” sighed Fumbo, closing his eyes and smacking his lips
with anticipation.
“Not unless you come back with us,” said Grampa craftily.
“We were in an island of fire,” began Tatters, while Urtha, who was
pressed close at his side, nodded excitedly.
“What!” exclaimed Fumbo, opening his eyes as far as they would go.
“I’ll come!” he decided hastily, “and you must tell me every single
bit of the story.”
Grampa smiled slyly, Tatters promised and before he could change his
mind, the old soldier thrust the King’s head into the pink bag Maribella
had used for her knitting. Then, accompanied by the little sky
shepherdess, Grampa and his army prepared to leave the sky. The other
heads looked very sulky as they passed by but, paying no attention to
their mutterings, Grampa marched to the edge of the great pink cloud.
“Now what?” mused the old soldier, staring down anxiously. “Are there
any steps or air ships about, my dear?”
Maribella shook her head. “But there’s a rainbow,” she cried suddenly.
“Could you use that?” Arching from the edge of the cloud and down as
far as they could see, curved a wide glittering rainbow—for the storm
was over and the sun was shining through the clouds. Dancing down the
rainbow came a fairy almost as lovely as Urtha herself. It was
Polychrome, the Rain King’s daughter, and when Maribella explained that
Grampa and his company were from Oz, she insisted upon kissing them
all—for Polychrome had visited in Oz many times and had met with some
fine adventures there.
“Come on,” cried Polychrome gaily, “I’ll show you how to travel on a
rainbow.” Seizing Urtha by the hand, she began running down the bow as
you and I would run down steps. Calling good-bye to Maribella, Grampa
and Tatters quickly followed, the Prince carrying his father’s head and
the red umbrella and Grampa balancing Bill upon his shoulder.
“Now all we have to find is the Princess and the fortune, and a couple
of new pipes,” sighed Grampa.
“Ah, let’s go home without them,” begged Tatters eagerly. “I want to
show Urtha the castle and the pigeons. We don’t need a fortune to be
happy, Grampa.”
“Now don’t give up yet,” advised Grampa, turning to wag his finger at
the Prince. “There’s always a fortune at the end of the rainbow. Look!
I believe we’re coming down in the Winkie country, and when we do,”
Grampa pulled his whiskers determinedly, “I’m going to get myself an
anchor. I’m tired of this flying and falling about.”
“Use me,” crowed Bill, but as he spoke the bow grew suddenly so very
slant that instead of running they began to slide—faster and faster and
faster.
“Good-bye,” called Polychrome mischievously. “I’d come with you, but
it’s my Daddy’s birthday and we’re having a party in the sky.”
Just as Polly came to “party,” Grampa and his army came to the end of
the rainbow and tumbled off in fine style. None of them was hurt in the
tumble, and all scrambled to their feet as quickly as they could.
“Good-bye, Polychrome,” called Urtha. She was the only one who had
breath enough to speak.
“Good gracious,” puffed the old soldier, “I hope we’ve not broken your
father’s head.”
“Well, if it’s not broken it’s badly cracked,” raged the King stuffily,
from the inside of the bag. “If you’re going to fling me about like this
I’ll not stick with you, do you hear?”
The adventurers smiled and silently put their fingers to their lips, and
King Fumbo decided that further protest was useless.