“You are my prisoner, and it is useless for you to struggle any
longer,” said Glinda, in her soft, sweet voice. “Lie still a moment,
and rest yourself, and then I will carry you back to my tent.”
“Why do you seek me?” asked Mombi, still scarce able to speak plainly
for lack of breath. “What have I done to you, to be so persecuted?”
“You have done nothing to me,” answered the gentle Sorceress; “but I
suspect you have been guilty of several wicked actions; and if I find
it is true that you have so abused your knowledge of magic, I intend to
punish you severely.”
“I defy you!” croaked the old hag. “You dare not harm me!”
Just then the Gump flew up to them and alighted upon the desert sands
beside Glinda. Our friends were delighted to find that Mombi had
finally been captured, and after a hurried consultation it was decided
they should all return to the camp in the Gump. So the Saw-Horse was
tossed aboard, and then Glinda still holding an end of the golden
thread that was around Mombi’s neck, forced her prisoner to climb into
the sofas. The others now followed, and Tip gave the word to the Gump
to return.
The Journey was made in safety, Mombi sitting in her place with a grim
and sullen air; for the old hag was absolutely helpless so long as the
magical thread encircled her throat. The army hailed Glinda’s return
with loud cheers, and the party of friends soon gathered again in the
royal tent, which had been neatly repaired during their absence.
“Now,” said the Sorceress to Mombi, “I want you to tell us why the
Wonderful Wizard of Oz paid you three visits, and what became of the
child, Ozma, which so curiously disappeared.”
The Witch looked at Glinda defiantly, but said not a word.
“Answer me!” cried the Sorceress.
But still Mombi remained silent.
“Perhaps she doesn’t know,” remarked Jack.
“I beg you will keep quiet,” said Tip. “You might spoil everything with
your foolishness.”
“Very well, dear father!” returned the Pumpkinhead, meekly.
“How glad I am to be a Woggle-Bug!” murmured the Highly Magnified
Insect, softly. “No one can expect wisdom to flow from a pumpkin.”
“Well,” said the Scarecrow, “what shall we do to make Mombi speak?
Unless she tells us what we wish to know her capture will do us no good
at all.”
“Suppose we try kindness,” suggested the Tin Woodman. “I’ve heard that
anyone can be conquered with kindness, no matter how ugly they may be.”
At this the Witch turned to glare upon him so horribly that the Tin
Woodman shrank back abashed.
Glinda had been carefully considering what to do, and now she turned to
Mombi and said:
“You will gain nothing, I assure you, by thus defying us. For I am
determined to learn the truth about the girl Ozma, and unless you tell
me all that you know, I will certainly put you to death.”
“Oh, no! Don’t do that!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “It would be an
awful thing to kill anyone—even old Mombi!”
“But it is merely a threat,” returned Glinda. “I shall not put Mombi to
death, because she will prefer to tell me the truth.”
“Oh, I see!” said the tin man, much relieved.
“Suppose I tell you all that you wish to know,”. said Mombi, speaking
so suddenly that she startled them all. “What will you do with me
then?”
“In that case,” replied Glinda, “I shall merely ask you to drink a
powerful draught which will cause you to forget all the magic you have
ever learned.”
“Then I would become a helpless old woman!”
“But you would be alive,” suggested the Pumpkinhead, consolingly.
“Do try to keep silent!” said Tip, nervously.
“I’ll try,” responded Jack; “but you will admit that it’s a good thing
to be alive.”
“Especially if one happens to be Thoroughly Educated,” added the
Woggle-Bug, nodding approval.
“You may make your choice,” Glinda said to old Mombi, “between death if
you remain silent, and the loss of your magical powers if you tell me
the truth. But I think you will prefer to live.”
Mombi cast an uneasy glance at the Sorceress, and saw that she was in
earnest, and not to be trifled with. So she replied, slowly:
“I will answer your questions.”
“That is what I expected,” said Glinda, pleasantly. “You have chosen
wisely, I assure you.”
She then motioned to one of her Captains, who brought her a beautiful
golden casket. From this the Sorceress drew an immense white pearl,
attached to a slender chain which she placed around her neck in such a
way that the pearl rested upon her bosom, directly over her heart.
“Now,” said she, “I will ask my first question: Why did the Wizard pay
you three visits?”
“Because I would not come to him,” answered Mombi.
“That is no answer,” said Glinda, sternly. “Tell me the truth.”
“Well,” returned Mombi, with downcast eyes, “he visited me to learn the
way I make tea-biscuits.”
“Look up!” commanded the Sorceress.
Mombi obeyed.
“What is the color of my pearl?” demanded Glinda.
“Why—it is black!” replied the old Witch, in a tone of wonder.
“Then you have told me a falsehood!” cried Glinda, angrily. “Only when
the truth is spoken will my magic pearl remain a pure white in color.”
Mombi now saw how useless it was to try to deceive the Sorceress; so
she said, meanwhile scowling at her defeat:
“The Wizard brought to me the girl Ozma, who was then no more than a
baby, and begged me to conceal the child.”
“That is what I thought,” declared Glinda, calmly. “What did he give
you for thus serving him?”
“He taught me all the magical tricks he knew. Some were good tricks,
and some were only frauds; but I have remained faithful to my promise.”
“What did you do with the girl?” asked Glinda; and at this question
everyone bent forward and listened eagerly for the reply.
“I enchanted her,” answered Mombi.
“In what way?”
“I transformed her into—into—”
“Into what?” demanded Glinda, as the Witch hesitated.
“_Into a boy!_” said Mombi, in a low tone.
“A boy!” echoed every voice; and then, because they knew that this old
woman had reared Tip from childhood, all eyes were turned to where the
boy stood.
“Yes,” said the old Witch, nodding her head; “that is the Princess
Ozma—the child brought to me by the Wizard who stole her father’s
throne. That is the rightful ruler of the Emerald City!” and she
pointed her long bony finger straight at the boy.
“I!” cried Tip, in amazement. “Why, I’m no Princess Ozma—I’m not a
girl!”
Glinda smiled, and going to Tip she took his small brown hand within
her dainty white one.
“You are not a girl just now” said she, gently, “because Mombi
transformed you into a boy. But you were born a girl, and also a
Princess; so you must resume your proper form, that you may become
Queen of the Emerald City.”
“Oh, let Jinjur be the Queen!” exclaimed Tip, ready to cry. “I want to
stay a boy, and travel with the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and the
Woggle-Bug, and Jack—yes! and my friend the Saw-Horse—and the Gump! I
don’t want to be a girl!”
“Never mind, old chap,” said the Tin Woodman, soothingly; “it don’t
hurt to be a girl, I’m told; and we will all remain your faithful
friends just the same. And, to be honest with you, I’ve always
considered girls nicer than boys.”
“They’re just as nice, anyway,” added the Scarecrow, patting Tip
affectionately upon the head.
“And they are equally good students,” proclaimed the Woggle-Bug. “I
should like to become your tutor, when you are transformed into a girl
again.”
“But—see here!” said Jack Pumpkinhead, with a gasp: “if you become a
girl, you can’t be my dear father any more!”
“No,” answered Tip, laughing in spite of his anxiety. “and I shall not
be sorry to escape the relationship.” Then he added, hesitatingly, as
he turned to Glinda: “I might try it for awhile,-just to see how it
seems, you know. But if I don’t like being a girl you must promise to
change me into a boy again.”
“Really,” said the Sorceress, “that is beyond my magic. I never deal in
transformations, for they are not honest, and no respectable sorceress
likes to make things appear to be what they are not. Only unscrupulous
witches use the art, and therefore I must ask Mombi to effect your
release from her charm, and restore you to your proper form. It will be
the last opportunity she will have to practice magic.”
Now that the truth about Princes Ozma had been discovered, Mombi did
not care what became of Tip; but she feared Glinda’s anger, and the boy
generously promised to provide for Mombi in her old age if he became
the ruler of the Emerald City. So the Witch consented to effect the
transformation, and preparations for the event were at once made.
Glinda ordered her own royal couch to be placed in the center of the
tent. It was piled high with cushions covered with rose-colored silk,
and from a golden railing above hung many folds of pink gossamer,
completely concealing the interior of the couch.
The first act of the Witch was to make the boy drink a potion which
quickly sent him into a deep and dreamless sleep. Then the Tin Woodman
and the Woggle-Bug bore him gently to the couch, placed him upon the
soft cushions, and drew the gossamer hangings to shut him from all
earthly view.
The Witch squatted upon the ground and kindled a tiny fire of dried
herbs, which she drew from her bosom. When the blaze shot up and burned
clearly old Mombi scattered a handful of magical powder over the fire,
which straightway gave off a rich violet vapor, filling all the tent
with its fragrance and forcing the Saw-Horse to sneeze—although he had
been warned to keep quiet.
Then, while the others watched her curiously, the hag chanted a
rhythmical verse in words which no one understood, and bent her lean
body seven times back and forth over the fire. And now the incantation
seemed complete, for the Witch stood upright and cried the one word
“Yeowa!” in a loud voice.
The vapor floated away; the atmosphere became, clear again; a whiff of
fresh air filled the tent, and the pink curtains of the couch trembled
slightly, as if stirred from within.
Glinda walked to the canopy and parted the silken hangings. Then she
bent over the cushions, reached out her hand, and from the couch arose
the form of a young girl, fresh and beautiful as a May morning. Her
eyes sparkled as two diamonds, and her lips were tinted like a
tourmaline. All adown her back floated tresses of ruddy gold, with a
slender jeweled circlet confining them at the brow. Her robes of silken
gauze floated around her like a cloud, and dainty satin slippers shod
her feet.
At this exquisite vision Tip’s old comrades stared in wonder for the
space of a full minute, and then every head bent low in honest
admiration of the lovely Princess Ozma. The girl herself cast one look
into Glinda’s bright face, which glowed with pleasure and satisfaction,
and then turned upon the others. Speaking the words with sweet
diffidence, she said:
“I hope none of you will care less for me than you did before. I’m just
the same Tip, you know; only—only—”
“Only you’re different!” said the Pumpkinhead; and everyone thought it
was the wisest speech he had ever made.
[Illustration: image303]