It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling
tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to
tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't
allow me. They cry: "Oz--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I
do but obey their commands?
This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me
with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly
tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one
story.
After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy
has become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all
love Dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a
real Oz story without her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle
and innocent as ever, I hope, and the heroine of another strange
adventure.
There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about
the Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in
the first Oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged
himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted into the sky
in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. So
what could I do but tell "what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You
will find him in these pages, just the same humbug Wizard as before.
There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible
to do in this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's
little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. But you will
see, when you begin to read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while
Dorothy was in California, and so she had to start on her adventure
without him. In this book Dorothy had to take her kitten with her
instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am permitted to write
one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further history.
Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again
introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz.
You will also become acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny
Piglets, and Eureka, the Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well
behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up
properly. Dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody
knows.
I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever
lived. Many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while
I read the tender, loving, appealing letters that came to me in almost
every mail from my little readers. To have pleased you, to have
interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love,
through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become
President of the United States. Indeed, I would much rather be your
story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the President. So you
have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and I am more grateful to
you, my dears, than I can express in words.
I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes
there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get
your answer. But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come,
and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of
preparing these books. Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the
books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling
the stories, and I am sure they would not be half so good without your
clever and thoughtful assistance.