Princess Dorothy Escapes
The two days that Grampa and his little army had been adventuring in the
wizard’s garden, on Fire Island and Isa Poso, Dorothy, Toto and the
Forgetful Poet had spent as prisoners on Monday Mountain. Only the
friendship of Princess Pearl Borax had saved them from actual harm, for
the Queen of the Tubbies had nearly carried out her threat of wringing
their necks. But the Queen finally had sentenced them to the wash tubs,
and from morning till night Dorothy and Percy Vere had been forced to
bend over the wash boards with the rest of the wild wash women tribe.
Several times during the first day Percy Vere had almost agreed to marry
the dreadful daughter of the old wash woman, for he could not bear to
see dear little Dorothy working like a slave. The Forgetful Poet himself
had never done any hard work, and in an hour he had rubbed all the skin
from his knuckles and all the buttons from the clothes. But Dorothy
would not hear of his marrying Pearl Borax, so, hiding his own
discomfort, Percy did the best he could to keep her cheerful, reciting
his ridiculous rhymes and waving the shirts, stockings and pantaloons
around his head whenever the Queen’s back was turned. Even so, keeping
cheerful was hard work and often both grew downhearted.
“And Ozma thinks I’m having a fine visit with the Tin Woodman,” sighed
Dorothy wearily, toward the end of the second day.
“And Peer Haps thinks I’m rescuing his daughter,” groaned Percy Vere,
letting the Queen’s red table cloth slip back into his tub and staring
mournfully down Monday Mountain. Then seeing that Dorothy was actually
near to tears, he tilted his cap over one eye and whispered this verse
into her right ear:
“It’s wash, splosh, rub
And hang ’em up for dryin’,
If sumpin doesn’t happen soon
I’ll simply bust out—?”
“Cryin’!” Dorothy smiled and dashed the tears out of her eyes. “Here
comes the old lady!” she finished hurriedly.
“Isn’t she simply sinoobious,” sniffed Percy, dousing the red table
cloth up and down in the water.
“What did you say?” roared the Queen of the Tubbies.
“I said,” grinned Percy mischievously:
“Her Highness is so beautiful
Her brightness dims the eye,
I’ll work here and be dutiful
Until the day I, I—?”
“Die!” spluttered Dorothy, and the clumsy Queen lumbered on with a
pleased smirk.
“Better make up your mind to marry Pearl,” she called over her shoulder
and Pearl Borax blew Percy a wet kiss over her tub of clothes. Toto, who
was tied to Dorothy’s tub, growled fiercely—for he loathed the whole
tribe of sloppy, messy wash women.
“We must think of a way out,” gasped the poor poet unhappily, for life
on Monday Mountain, where every day is wash-day, and every dinner is of
potatoes and cabbage, was not to be endured. They had been over the
matter a hundred times before and there really seemed no chance of
escape at all. The tubs of the tribe were ranged in a circle around the
mountain top, so that Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet were always under
guard. A white fence ran around the mountain, a few feet below. You may
have heard of a fence running around before, but this was the first
fence Dorothy ever had seen that actually did run. It was tall and
spiked and flashed ’round and ’round, till just watching it gave one the
headache. It was too high to jump and the gate only came opposite
Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet once a day.
When they had been dragged up the mountain, the Queen had addressed a
low word to the fence. Immediately it had stopped and they had all come
through the gate. But what _was_ the word? Ever since his capture Percy
Vere had been trying to puzzle it out and now, leaning his elbows on his
wash board, he began trying again. Indeed he thought until he had twelve
wrinkles in his forehead and all at once, like a flash of lightning, it
came to him—such a short, sensible word that he gave a triumphant skip.
Next instant he was splashing the clothes in his tub so vigorously that
none of the wild wash women heard him give Dorothy a few quick
instructions. In five minutes the gate would be opposite and one minute
before the five were up, the three prisoners dashed down the mountain.
“Stop!” shouted Percy Vere, imperiously hammering upon the fence with a
rock. Oh, joy! It did stop and, as the gate was now exactly in front of
them, Percy Vere opened it boldly and pulled Dorothy and Toto though. No
sooner were they out than the fence began to spin around as fast as
ever, so that before the wild wash women, who saw them escape, could
follow the gate was half way around the mountain. With howls of rage and
fright—for the Tubbies knew that the Queen would be furious—the dreadful
creatures overturned their wash tubs, and a perfect torrent of hot soapy
water came cascading down the mountain side, upsetting Dorothy and the
Forgetful Poet and making the path so slippery that they never stopped
sliding till they reached the bottom. Breathless, drenched and shaken,
but otherwise unhurt, they picked themselves up and, without pausing to
rest, all three began running as fast as ever they could away from
Monday Mountain.
“How—did—you—ever—think—of—telling the fence to stop?” puffed Dorothy,
stopping under a broad tulip tree.
“Had to!” gasped Percy, dropping heavily to the ground and leaning over
to pat Toto, who sat, with closed eyes and tongue out, trying to catch
up with his breath. Then Percy delivered this gem:
“Far from the Tubbies, little Princess,
And wouldn’t they starch and blue and rinse us—”
“Did you say Princess?” interrupted a voice. Dorothy and Percy both
jumped and Toto gave a frightened bark—for sitting on a lower branch of
the tulip tree was our old friend Bill.
“Did you say Princess?” crowed the weather cock. Percy was too surprised
to do anything but nod and the iron bird rattled into the air screaming:
“The Princess! The Princess!” and flew over the tree tops.