Title: The Lost Princess of Oz
Author: Baum, L. Frank (Lyman Frank)
Language: English
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THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ

by L. FRANK BAUM



This Book is Dedicated
To My Granddaughter
OZMA BAUM



To My Readers


Some of my youthful readers are developing wonderful imaginations. This
pleases me. Imagination has brought mankind through the Dark Ages to
its present state of civilization. Imagination led Columbus to discover
America. Imagination led Franklin to discover electricity. Imagination
has given us the steam engine, the telephone, the talking-machine and
the automobile, for these things had to be dreamed of before they
became realities. So I believe that dreams—day dreams, you know, with
your eyes wide open and your brain-machinery whizzing—are likely to
lead to the betterment of the world. The imaginative child will become
the imaginative man or woman most apt to create, to invent, and
therefore to foster civilization. A prominent educator tells me that
fairy tales are of untold value in developing imagination in the young.
I believe it.

Among the letters I receive from children are many containing
suggestions of “what to write about in the next Oz Book.” Some of the
ideas advanced are mighty interesting, while others are too extravagant
to be seriously considered—even in a fairy tale. Yet I like them all,
and I must admit that the main idea in “The Lost Princess of Oz” was
suggested to me by a sweet little girl of eleven who called to see me
and to talk about the Land of Oz. Said she: “I s’pose if Ozma ever got
lost, or stolen, ev’rybody in Oz would be dreadful sorry.”

That was all, but quite enough foundation to build this present story
on. If you happen to like the story, give credit to my little friend’s
clever hint.

L. Frank Baum
Royal Historian of Oz



LIST OF CHAPTERS

 Chapter 1 A Terrible Loss
 Chapter 2 The Troubles of Glinda the Good
 Chapter 3 The Robbery of Cayke the Cookie Cook
 Chapter 4 Among the Winkies
 Chapter 5 Ozma’s Friends Are Perplexed
 Chapter 6 The Search Party
 Chapter 7 The Merry-Go-Round Mountains
 Chapter 8 The Mysterious City
 Chapter 9 The High Coco-Lorum of Thi
 Chapter 10 Toto Loses Something
 Chapter 11 Button-Bright Loses Himself
 Chapter 12 The Czarover of Herku
 Chapter 13 The Truth Pond
 Chapter 14 The Unhappy Ferryman
 Chapter 15 The Big Lavender Bear
 Chapter 16 The Little Pink Bear
 Chapter 17 The Meeting
 Chapter 18 The Conference
 Chapter 19 Ugu the Shoemaker
 Chapter 20 More Surprises
 Chapter 21 Magic Against Magic
 Chapter 22 In the Wicker Castle
 Chapter 23 The Defiance of Ugu the Shoemaker
 Chapter 24 The Little Pink Bear Speaks Truly
 Chapter 25 Ozma of Oz
 Chapter 26 Dorothy Forgives



THE LOST PRINCESS



CHAPTER 1
A TERRIBLE LOSS


There could be no doubt of the fact: Princess Ozma, the lovely girl
ruler of the Fairyland of Oz, was lost. She had completely disappeared.
Not one of her subjects—not even her closest friends—knew what had
become of her. It was Dorothy who first discovered it. Dorothy was a
little Kansas girl who had come to the Land of Oz to live and had been
given a delightful suite of rooms in Ozma’s royal palace just because
Ozma loved Dorothy and wanted her to live as near her as possible so
the two girls might be much together.

Dorothy was not the only girl from the outside world who had been
welcomed to Oz and lived in the royal palace. There was another named
Betsy Bobbin, whose adventures had led her to seek refuge with Ozma,
and still another named Trot, who had been invited, together with her
faithful companion Cap’n Bill, to make her home in this wonderful
fairyland. The three girls all had rooms in the palace and were great
chums; but Dorothy was the dearest friend of their gracious Ruler and
only she at any hour dared to seek Ozma in her royal apartments. For
Dorothy had lived in Oz much longer than the other girls and had been
made a Princess of the realm.

Betsy was a year older than Dorothy and Trot was a year younger, yet
the three were near enough of an age to become great playmates and to
have nice times together. It was while the three were talking together
one morning in Dorothy’s room that Betsy proposed they make a journey
into the Munchkin Country, which was one of the four great countries of
the Land of Oz ruled by Ozma. “I’ve never been there yet,” said Betsy
Bobbin, “but the Scarecrow once told me it is the prettiest country in
all Oz.”

“I’d like to go, too,” added Trot.

“All right,” said Dorothy. “I’ll go and ask Ozma. Perhaps she will let
us take the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon, which would be much nicer for
us than having to walk all the way. This Land of Oz is a pretty big
place when you get to all the edges of it.”

So she jumped up and went along the halls of the splendid palace until
she came to the royal suite, which filled all the front of the second
floor. In a little waiting room sat Ozma’s maid, Jellia Jamb, who was
busily sewing. “Is Ozma up yet?” inquired Dorothy.

“I don’t know, my dear,” replied Jellia. “I haven’t heard a word from
her this morning. She hasn’t even called for her bath or her breakfast,
and it is far past her usual time for them.”

“That’s strange!” exclaimed the little girl.

“Yes,” agreed the maid, “but of course no harm could have happened to
her. No one can die or be killed in the Land of Oz, and Ozma is herself
a powerful fairy, and she has no enemies so far as we know. Therefore I
am not at all worried about her, though I must admit her silence is
unusual.”

“Perhaps,” said Dorothy thoughtfully, “she has overslept. Or she may be
reading or working out some new sort of magic to do good to her
people.”

“Any of these things may be true,” replied Jellia Jamb, “so I haven’t
dared disturb our royal mistress. You, however, are a privileged
character, Princess, and I am sure that Ozma wouldn’t mind at all if
you went in to see her.”

“Of course not,” said Dorothy, and opening the door of the outer
chamber, she went in. All was still here. She walked into another room,
which was Ozma’s boudoir, and then, pushing back a heavy drapery richly
broidered with threads of pure gold, the girl entered the sleeping-room
of the fairy Ruler of Oz. The bed of ivory and gold was vacant; the
room was vacant; not a trace of Ozma was to be found.

Very much surprised, yet still with no fear that anything had happened
to her friend, Dorothy returned through the boudoir to the other rooms
of the suite. She went into the music room, the library, the
laboratory, the bath, the wardrobe, and even into the great throne
room, which adjoined the royal suite, but in none of these places could
she find Ozma.

So she returned to the anteroom where she had left the maid, Jellia
Jamb, and said:

“She isn’t in her rooms now, so she must have gone out.”

“I don’t understand how she could do that without my seeing her,”
replied Jellia, “unless she made herself invisible.”

“She isn’t there, anyhow,” declared Dorothy.

“Then let us go find her,” suggested the maid, who appeared to be a
little uneasy. So they went into the corridors, and there Dorothy
almost stumbled over a queer girl who was dancing lightly along the
passage.

“Stop a minute, Scraps!” she called, “Have you seen Ozma this morning?”

“Not I!” replied the queer girl, dancing nearer. “I lost both my eyes
in a tussle with the Woozy last night, for the creature scraped ’em
both off my face with his square paws. So I put the eyes in my pocket,
and this morning Button-Bright led me to Aunt Em, who sewed ’em on
again. So I’ve seen nothing at all today, except during the last five
minutes. So of course I haven’t seen Ozma.”

“Very well, Scraps,” said Dorothy, looking curiously at the eyes, which
were merely two round, black buttons sewed upon the girl’s face.

There were other things about Scraps that would have seemed curious to
one seeing her for the first time. She was commonly called “the
Patchwork Girl” because her body and limbs were made from a gay-colored
patchwork quilt which had been cut into shape and stuffed with cotton.
Her head was a round ball stuffed in the same manner and fastened to
her shoulders. For hair, she had a mass of brown yarn, and to make a
nose for her a part of the cloth had been pulled out into the shape of
a knob and tied with a string to hold it in place. Her mouth had been
carefully made by cutting a slit in the proper place and lining it with
red silk, adding two rows of pearls for teeth and a bit of red flannel
for a tongue.

In spite of this queer make-up, the Patchwork Girl was magically alive
and had proved herself not the least jolly and agreeable of the many
quaint characters who inhabit the astonishing Fairyland of Oz. Indeed,
Scraps was a general favorite, although she was rather flighty and
erratic and did and said many things that surprised her friends. She
was seldom still, but loved to dance, to turn handsprings and
somersaults, to climb trees and to indulge in many other active sports.

“I’m going to search for Ozma,” remarked Dorothy, “for she isn’t in her
rooms, and I want to ask her a question.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Scraps, “for my eyes are brighter than yours,
and they can see farther.”

“I’m not sure of that,” returned Dorothy. “But come along, if you
like.”

Together they searched all through the great palace and even to the
farthest limits of the palace grounds, which were quite extensive, but
nowhere could they find a trace of Ozma. When Dorothy returned to where
Betsy and Trot awaited her, the little girl’s face was rather solemn
and troubled, for never before had Ozma gone away without telling her
friends where she was going, or without an escort that befitted her
royal state. She was gone, however, and none had seen her go. Dorothy
had met and questioned the Scarecrow, Tik-Tok, the Shaggy Man,
Button-Bright, Cap’n Bill, and even the wise and powerful Wizard of Oz,
but not one of them had seen Ozma since she parted with her friends the
evening before and had gone to her own rooms.

“She didn’t say anything las’ night about going anywhere,” observed
little Trot.

“No, and that’s the strange part of it,” replied Dorothy. “Usually Ozma
lets us know of everything she does.”

“Why not look in the Magic Picture?” suggested Betsy Bobbin. “That will
tell us where she is in just one second.”

“Of course!” cried Dorothy. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” And at
once the three girls hurried away to Ozma’s boudoir, where the Magic
Picture always hung. This wonderful Magic Picture was one of the royal
Ozma’s greatest treasures. There was a large gold frame in the center
of which was a bluish-gray canvas on which various scenes constantly
appeared and disappeared. If one who stood before it wished to see what
any person anywhere in the world was doing, it was only necessary to
make the wish and the scene in the Magic Picture would shift to the
scene where that person was and show exactly what he or she was then
engaged in doing. So the girls knew it would be easy for them to wish
to see Ozma, and from the picture they could quickly learn where she
was.

Dorothy advanced to the place where the picture was usually protected
by thick satin curtains and pulled the draperies aside. Then she stared
in amazement, while her two friends uttered exclamations of
disappointment.

The Magic Picture was gone. Only a blank space on the wall behind the
curtains showed where it had formerly hung.



CHAPTER 2
THE TROUBLES OF GLINDA THE GOOD


That same morning there was great excitement in the castle of the
powerful Sorceress of Oz, Glinda the Good. This castle, situated in the
Quadling Country, far south of the Emerald City where Ozma ruled, was a
splendid structure of exquisite marbles and silver grilles. Here the
Sorceress lived, surrounded by a bevy of the most beautiful maidens of
Oz, gathered from all the four countries of that fairyland as well as
from the magnificent Emerald City itself, which stood in the place
where the four countries cornered. It was considered a great honor to
be allowed to serve the good Sorceress, whose arts of magic were used
only to benefit the Oz people. Glinda was Ozma’s most valued servant,
for her knowledge of sorcery was wonderful, and she could accomplish
almost anything that her mistress, the lovely girl Ruler of Oz, wished
her to.

Of all the magical things which surrounded Glinda in her castle, there
was none more marvelous than her Great Book of Records. On the pages of
this Record Book were constantly being inscribed, day by day and hour
by hour, all the important events that happened anywhere in the known
world, and they were inscribed in the book at exactly the moment the
events happened. Every adventure in the Land of Oz and in the big
outside world, and even in places that you and I have never heard of,
were recorded accurately in the Great Book, which never made a mistake
and stated only the exact truth. For that reason, nothing could be
concealed from Glinda the Good, who had only to look at the pages of
the Great Book of Records to know everything that had taken place. That
was one reason she was such a great Sorceress, for the records made her
wiser than any other living person.

This wonderful book was placed upon a big gold table that stood in the
middle of Glinda’s drawing room. The legs of the table, which were
incrusted with precious gems, were firmly fastened to the tiled floor,
and the book itself was chained to the table and locked with six stout
golden padlocks, the keys to which Glinda carried on a chain that was
secured around her own neck. The pages of the Great Book were larger in
size than those of an American newspaper, and although they were
exceedingly thin, there were so many of them that they made an
enormous, bulky volume. With its gold cover and gold clasps, the book
was so heavy that three men could scarcely have lifted it. Yet this
morning when Glinda entered her drawing room after breakfast, the good
Sorceress was amazed to discover that her Great Book of Records had
mysteriously disappeared.

Advancing to the table, she found the chains had been cut with some
sharp instrument, and this must have been done while all in the castle
slept. Glinda was shocked and grieved. Who could have done this wicked,
bold thing? And who could wish to deprive her of her Great Book of
Records?

The Sorceress was thoughtful for a time, considering the consequences
of her loss. Then she went to her Room of Magic to prepare a charm that
would tell her who had stolen the Record Book. But when she unlocked
her cupboard and threw open the doors, all of her magical instruments
and rare chemical compounds had been removed from the shelves. The
Sorceress has now both angry and alarmed. She sat down in a chair and
tried to think how this extraordinary robbery could have taken place.
It was evident that the thief was some person of very great power, or
the theft could not have been accomplished without her knowledge. But
who, in all the Land of Oz, was powerful and skillful enough to do this
awful thing? And who, having the power, could also have an object in
defying the wisest and most talented Sorceress the world has ever
known?

Glinda thought over the perplexing matter for a full hour, at the end
of which time she was still puzzled how to explain it. But although her
instruments and chemicals were gone, her KNOWLEDGE of magic had not
been stolen, by any means, since no thief, however skillful, can rob
one of knowledge, and that is why knowledge is the best and safest
treasure to acquire. Glinda believed that when she had time to gather
more magical herbs and elixirs and to manufacture more magical
instruments, she would be able to discover who the robber was and what
had become of her precious Book of Records.

“Whoever has done this,” she said to her maidens, “is a very foolish
person, for in time he is sure to be found out and will then be
severely punished.”

She now made a list of the things she needed and dispatched messengers
to every part of Oz with instructions to obtain them and bring them to
her as soon as possible. And one of her messengers met the little
Wizard of Oz, who was seated on the back of the famous live Sawhorse
and was clinging to its neck with both his arms, for the Sawhorse was
speeding to Glinda’s castle with the velocity of the wind, bearing the
news that Royal Ozma, Ruler of all the great Land of Oz, had suddenly
disappeared and no one in the Emerald City knew what had become of her.

“Also,” said the Wizard as he stood before the astonished Sorceress,
“Ozma’s Magic Picture is gone, so we cannot consult it to discover
where she is. So I came to you for assistance as soon as we realized
our loss. Let us look in the Great Book of Records.”

“Alas,” returned the Sorceress sorrowfully, “we cannot do that, for the
Great Book of Records has also disappeared!”



CHAPTER 3
THE ROBBERY OF CAYKE THE COOKIE COOK


One more important theft was reported in the Land of Oz that eventful
morning, but it took place so far from either the Emerald City or the
castle of Glinda the Good that none of those persons we have mentioned
learned of the robbery until long afterward.

In the far southwestern corner of the Winkie Country is a broad
tableland that can be reached only by climbing a steep hill, whichever
side one approaches it. On the hillside surrounding this tableland are
no paths at all, but there are quantities of bramble bushes with sharp
prickers on them, which prevent any of the Oz people who live down
below from climbing up to see what is on top. But on top live the Yips,
and although the space they occupy is not great in extent, the wee
country is all their own. The Yips had never—up to the time this story
begins—left their broad tableland to go down into the Land of Oz, nor
had the Oz people ever climbed up to the country of the Yips.

Living all alone as they did, the Yips had queer ways and notions of
their own and did not resemble any other people of the Land of Oz.
Their houses were scattered all over the flat surface; not like a city,
grouped together, but set wherever their owners’ fancy dictated, with
fields here, trees there, and odd little paths connecting the houses
one with another. It was here, on the morning when Ozma so strangely
disappeared from the Emerald City, that Cayke the Cookie Cook
discovered that her diamond-studded gold dishpan had been stolen, and
she raised such a hue and cry over her loss and wailed and shrieked so
loudly that many of the Yips gathered around her house to inquire what
was the matter.

It was a serious thing in any part of the Land of Oz to accuse one of
stealing, so when the Yips heard Cayke the Cookie Cook declare that her
jeweled dishpan had been stolen, they were both humiliated and
disturbed and forced Cayke to go with them to the Frogman to see what
could be done about it. I do not suppose you have ever before heard of
the Frogman, for like all other dwellers on that tableland, he had
never been away from it, nor had anyone come up there to see him. The
Frogman was in truth descended from the common frogs of Oz, and when he
was first born he lived in a pool in the Winkie Country and was much
like any other frog. Being of an adventurous nature, however, he soon
hopped out of his pool and began to travel, when a big bird came along
and seized him in its beak and started to fly away with him to its
nest. When high in the air, the frog wriggled so frantically that he
got loose and fell down, down, down into a small hidden pool on the
tableland of the Yips. Now that pool, it seems, was unknown to the Yips
because it was surrounded by thick bushes and was not near to any
dwelling, and it proved to be an enchanted pool, for the frog grew very
fast and very big, feeding on the magic skosh which is found nowhere
else on earth except in that one pool. And the skosh not only made the
frog very big so that when he stood on his hind legs he was as tall as
any Yip in the country, but it made him unusually intelligent, so that
he soon knew more than the Yips did and was able to reason and to argue
very well indeed.

No one could expect a frog with these talents to remain in a hidden
pool, so he finally got out of it and mingled with the people of the
tableland, who were amazed at his appearance and greatly impressed by
his learning. They had never seen a frog before, and the frog had never
seen a Yip before, but as there were plenty of Yips and only one frog,
the frog became the most important. He did not hop any more, but stood
upright on his hind legs and dressed himself in fine clothes and sat in
chairs and did all the things that people do, so he soon came to be
called the Frogman, and that is the only name he has ever had. After
some years had passed, the people came to regard the Frogman as their
adviser in all matters that puzzled them. They brought all their
difficulties to him, and when he did not know anything, he pretended to
know it, which seemed to answer just as well. Indeed, the Yips thought
the Frogman was much wiser than he really was, and he allowed them to
think so, being very proud of his position of authority.

There was another pool on the tableland which was not enchanted but
contained good, clear water and was located close to the dwellings.
Here the people built the Frogman a house of his own, close to the edge
of the pool so that he could take a bath or a swim whenever he wished.
He usually swam in the pool in the early morning before anyone else was
up, and during the day he dressed himself in his beautiful clothes and
sat in his house and received the visits of all the Yips who came to
him to ask his advice. The Frogman’s usual costume consisted of
knee-breeches made of yellow satin plush, with trimmings of gold braid
and jeweled knee-buckles; a white satin vest with silver buttons in
which were set solitaire rubies; a swallow-tailed coat of bright
yellow; green stockings and red leather shoes turned up at the toes and
having diamond buckles. He wore, when he walked out, a purple silk hat
and carried a gold-headed cane. Over his eyes he wore great spectacles
with gold rims, not because his eyes were bad, but because the
spectacles made him look wise, and so distinguished and gorgeous was
his appearance that all the Yips were very proud of him.

There was no King or Queen in the Yip Country, so the simple
inhabitants naturally came to look upon the Frogman as their leader as
well as their counselor in all times of emergency. In his heart the big
frog knew he was no wiser than the Yips, but for a frog to know as much
as a person was quite remarkable, and the Frogman was shrewd enough to
make the people believe he was far more wise than he really was. They
never suspected he was a humbug, but listened to his words with great
respect and did just what he advised them to do.

Now when Cayke the Cookie Cook raised such an outcry over the theft of
her diamond-studded dishpan, the first thought of the people was to
take her to the Frogman and inform him of the loss, thinking that of
course he would tell her where to find it. He listened to the story
with his big eyes wide open behind his spectacles, and said in his
deep, croaking voice, “If the dishpan is stolen, somebody must have
taken it.”

“But who?” asked Cayke anxiously. “Who is the thief?”

“The one who took the dishpan, of course,” replied the Frogman, and
hearing this all the Yips nodded their heads gravely and said to one
another, “It is absolutely true!”

“But I want my dishpan!” cried Cayke.

“No one can blame you for that wish,” remarked the Frogman.

“Then tell me where I may find it,” she urged.

The look the Frogman gave her was a very wise look, and he rose from
his chair and strutted up and down the room with his hands under his
coattails in a very pompous and imposing manner. This was the first
time so difficult a matter had been brought to him, and he wanted time
to think. It would never do to let them suspect his ignorance, and so
he thought very, very hard how best to answer the woman without
betraying himself. “I beg to inform you,” said he, “that nothing in the
Yip Country has ever been stolen before.”

“We know that already,” answered Cayke the Cookie Cook impatiently.

“Therefore,” continued the Frogman, “this theft becomes a very
important matter.”

“Well, where is my dishpan?” demanded the woman.

“It is lost, but it must be found. Unfortunately, we have no policemen
or detectives to unravel the mystery, so we must employ other means to
regain the lost article. Cayke must first write a Proclamation and tack
it to the door of her house, and the Proclamation must read that
whoever stole the jeweled dishpan must return it at once.”

“But suppose no one returns it,” suggested Cayke.

“Then,” said the Frogman, “that very fact will be proof that no one has
stolen it.”

Cayke was not satisfied, but the other Yips seemed to approve the plan
highly. They all advised her to do as the Frogman had told her to, so
she posted the sign on her door and waited patiently for someone to
return the dishpan—which no one ever did. Again she went, accompanied
by a group of her neighbors, to the Frogman, who by this time had given
the matter considerable thought. Said he to Cayke, “I am now convinced
that no Yip has taken your dishpan, and since it is gone from the Yip
Country, I suspect that some stranger came from the world down below us
in the darkness of night when all of us were asleep and took away your
treasure. There can be no other explanation of its disappearance. So if
you wish to recover that golden, diamond-studded dishpan, you must go
into the lower world after it.”

This was indeed a startling proposition. Cayke and her friends went to
the edge of the flat tableland and looked down the steep hillside to
the plains below. It was so far to the bottom of the hill that nothing
there could be seen very distinctly, and it seemed to the Yips very
venturesome, if not dangerous, to go so far from home into an unknown
land. However, Cayke wanted her dishpan very badly, so she turned to
her friends and asked, “Who will go with me?”

No one answered the question, but after a period of silence one of the
Yips said, “We know what is here on the top of this flat hill, and it
seems to us a very pleasant place, but what is down below we do not
know. The chances are it is not so pleasant, so we had best stay where
we are.”

“It may be a far better country than this is,” suggested the Cookie
Cook.

“Maybe, maybe,” responded another Yip, “but why take chances?
Contentment with one’s lot is true wisdom. Perhaps in some other
country there are better cookies than you cook, but as we have always
eaten your cookies and liked them—except when they are burned on the
bottom—we do not long for any better ones.”

Cayke might have agreed to this argument had she not been so anxious to
find her precious dishpan, but now she exclaimed impatiently, “You are
cowards, all of you! If none of you are willing to explore with me the
great world beyond this small hill, I will surely go alone.”

“That is a wise resolve,” declared the Yips, much relieved. “It is your
dishpan that is lost, not ours. And if you are willing to risk your
life and liberty to regain it, no one can deny you the privilege.”

While they were thus conversing, the Frogman joined them and looked
down at the plain with his big eyes and seemed unusually thoughtful. In
fact, the Frogman was thinking that he’d like to see more of the world.
Here in the Yip Country he had become the most important creature of
them all, and his importance was getting to be a little tame. It would
be nice to have other people defer to him and ask his advice, and there
seemed no reason so far as he could see why his fame should not spread
throughout all Oz. He knew nothing of the rest of the world, but it was
reasonable to believe that there were more people beyond the mountain
where he now lived than there were Yips, and if he went among them he
could surprise them with his display of wisdom and make them bow down
to him as the Yips did. In other words, the Frogman was ambitious to
become still greater than he was, which was impossible if he always
remained upon this mountain. He wanted others to see his gorgeous
clothes and listen to his solemn sayings, and here was an excuse for
him to get away from the Yip Country. So he said to Cayke the Cookie
Cook, “I will go with you, my good woman,” which greatly pleased Cayke
because she felt the Frogman could be of much assistance to her in her
search.

But now, since the mighty Frogman had decided to undertake the journey,
several of the Yips who were young and daring at once made up their
minds to go along, so the next morning after breakfast the Frogman and
Cayke the Cookie Cook and nine of the Yips started to slide down the
side of the mountain. The bramble bushes and cactus plants were very
prickly and uncomfortable to the touch, so the Frogman quickly
commanded the Yips to go first and break a path, so that when he
followed them he would not tear his splendid clothes. Cayke, too, was
wearing her best dress and was likewise afraid of the thorns and
prickers, so she kept behind the Frogman.

They made rather slow progress and night overtook them before they were
halfway down the mountainside, so they found a cave in which they
sought shelter until morning. Cayke had brought along a basket full of
her famous cookies, so they all had plenty to eat. On the second day
the Yips began to wish they had not embarked on this adventure. They
grumbled a good deal at having to cut away the thorns to make the path
for the Frogman and the Cookie Cook, for their own clothing suffered
many tears, while Cayke and the Frogman traveled safely and in comfort.

“If it is true that anyone came to our country to steal your diamond
dishpan,” said one of the Yips to Cayke, “it must have been a bird, for
no person in the form of a man, woman or child could have climbed
through these bushes and back again.”

“And, allowing he could have done so,” said another Yip, “the
diamond-studded gold dishpan would not have repaid him for his troubles
and his tribulations.”

“For my part,” remarked a third Yip, “I would rather go back home and
dig and polish some more diamonds and mine some more gold and make you
another dishpan than be scratched from head to heel by these dreadful
bushes. Even now, if my mother saw me, she would not know I am her
son.”

Cayke paid no heed to these mutterings, nor did the Frogman. Although
their journey was slow, it was being made easy for them by the Yips, so
they had nothing to complain of and no desire to turn back. Quite near
to the bottom of the great hill they came upon a great gulf, the sides
of which were as smooth as glass. The gulf extended a long distance—as
far as they could see in either direction—and although it was not very
wide, it was far too wide for the Yips to leap across it. And should
they fall into it, it was likely they might never get out again. “Here
our journey ends,” said the Yips. “We must go back again.”

Cayke the Cookie Cook began to weep.

“I shall never find my pretty dishpan again, and my heart will be
broken!” she sobbed.

The Frogman went to the edge of the gulf and with his eye carefully
measured the distance to the other side. “Being a frog,” said he, “I
can leap, as all frogs do, and being so big and strong, I am sure I can
leap across this gulf with ease. But the rest of you, not being frogs,
must return the way you came.”

“We will do that with pleasure,” cried the Yips, and at once they
turned and began to climb up the steep mountain, feeling they had had
quite enough of this unsatisfactory adventure. Cayke the Cookie Cook
did not go with them, however. She sat on a rock and wept and wailed
and was very miserable.

“Well,” said the Frogman to her, “I will now bid you goodbye. If I find
your diamond-decorated gold dishpan, I will promise to see that it is
safely returned to you.”

“But I prefer to find it myself!” she said. “See here, Frogman, why
can’t you carry me across the gulf when you leap it? You are big and
strong, while I am small and thin.”

The Frogman gravely thought over this suggestion. It was a fact that
Cayke the Cookie Cook was not a heavy person. Perhaps he could leap the
gulf with her on his back. “If you are willing to risk a fall,” said
he, “I will make the attempt.”

At once she sprang up and grabbed him around his neck with both her
arms. That is, she grabbed him where his neck ought to be, for the
Frogman had no neck at all. Then he squatted down, as frogs do when
they leap, and with his powerful rear legs he made a tremendous jump.
Over the gulf they sailed, with the Cookie Cook on his back, and he had
leaped so hard—to make sure of not falling in—that he sailed over a lot
of bramble bushes that grew on the other side and landed in a clear
space which was so far beyond the gulf that when they looked back they
could not see it at all.

Cayke now got off the Frogman’s back and he stood erect again and
carefully brushed the dust from his velvet coat and rearranged his
white satin necktie.

“I had no idea I could leap so far,” he said wonderingly. “Leaping is
one more accomplishment I can now add to the long list of deeds I am
able to perform.”

“You are certainly fine at leap-frog,” said the Cookie Cook admiringly,
“but, as you say, you are wonderful in many ways. If we meet with any
people down here, I am sure they will consider you the greatest and
grandest of all living creatures.”

“Yes,” he replied, “I shall probably astonish strangers, because they
have never before had the pleasure of seeing me. Also, they will marvel
at my great learning. Every time I open my mouth, Cayke, I am liable to
say something important.”

“That is true,” she agreed, “and it is fortunate your mouth is so very
wide and opens so far, for otherwise all the wisdom might not be able
to get out of it.”

“Perhaps nature made it wide for that very reason,” said the Frogman.
“But come, let us now go on, for it is getting late and we must find
some sort of shelter before night overtakes us.”



CHAPTER 4
AMONG THE WINKIES


The settled parts of the Winkie Country are full of happy and contented
people who are ruled by a tin Emperor named Nick Chopper, who in turn
is a subject of the beautiful girl Ruler, Ozma of Oz. But not all of
the Winkie Country is fully settled. At the east, which part lies
nearest the Emerald City, there are beautiful farmhouses and roads, but
as you travel west, you first come to a branch of the Winkie River,
beyond which there is a rough country where few people live, and some
of these are quite unknown to the rest of the world. After passing
through this rude section of territory, which no one ever visits, you
would come to still another branch of the Winkie River, after crossing
which you would find another well-settled part of the Winkie Country
extending westward quite to the Deadly Desert that surrounds all the
Land of Oz and separates that favored fairyland from the more common
outside world. The Winkies who live in this west section have many tin
mines, from which metal they make a great deal of rich jewelry and
other articles, all of which are highly esteemed in the Land of Oz
because tin is so bright and pretty and there is not so much of it as
there is of gold and silver.

Not all the Winkies are miners, however, for some till the fields and
grow grains for food, and it was at one of these far-west Winkie farms
that the Frogman and Cayke the Cookie Cook first arrived after they had
descended from the mountain of the Yips. “Goodness me!” cried Nellary
the Winkie wife when she saw the strange couple approaching her house.
“I have seen many queer creatures in the Land of Oz, but none more
queer than this giant frog who dresses like a man and walks on his hind
legs. Come here, Wiljon,” she called to her husband, who was eating his
breakfast, “and take a look at this astonishing freak.”

Wiljon the Winkie came to the door and looked out. He was still
standing in the doorway when the Frogman approached and said with a
haughty croak, “Tell me, my good man, have you seen a diamond-studded
gold dishpan?”

“No, nor have I seen a copper-plated lobster,” replied Wiljon in an
equally haughty tone.

The Frogman stared at him and said, “Do not be insolent, fellow!”

“No,” added Cayke the Cookie Cook hastily, “you must be very polite to
the great Frogman, for he is the wisest creature in all the world.”

“Who says that?” inquired Wiljon.

“He says so himself,” replied Cayke, and the Frogman nodded and
strutted up and down, twirling his gold-headed cane very gracefully.

“Does the Scarecrow admit that this overgrown frog is the wisest
creature in the world?” asked Wiljon.

“I do not know who the Scarecrow is,” answered Cayke the Cookie Cook.

“Well, he lives at the Emerald City, and he is supposed to have the
finest brains in all Oz. The Wizard gave them to him, you know.”

“Mine grew in my head,” said the Frogman pompously, “so I think they
must be better than any wizard brains. I am so wise that sometimes my
wisdom makes my head ache. I know so much that often I have to forget
part of it, since no one creature, however great, is able to contain so
much knowledge.”

“It must be dreadful to be stuffed full of wisdom,” remarked Wiljon
reflectively and eyeing the Frogman with a doubtful look. “It is my
good fortune to know very little.”

“I hope, however, you know where my jeweled dishpan is,” said the
Cookie Cook anxiously.

“I do not know even that,” returned the Winkie. “We have trouble enough
in keeping track of our own dishpans without meddling with the dishpans
of strangers.”

Finding him so ignorant, the Frogman proposed that they walk on and
seek Cayke’s dishpan elsewhere. Wiljon the Winkie did not seem greatly
impressed by the great Frogman, which seemed to that personage as
strange as it was disappointing. But others in this unknown land might
prove more respectful.

“I’d like to meet that Wizard of Oz,” remarked Cayke as they walked
along a path. “If he could give a Scarecrow brains, he might be able to
find my dishpan.”

“Poof!” grunted the Frogman scornfully. “I am greater than any wizard.
Depend on ME. If your dishpan is anywhere in the world, I am sure to
find it.”

“If you do not, my heart will be broken,” declared the Cookie Cook in a
sorrowful voice.

For a while the Frogman walked on in silence. Then he asked, “Why do
you attach so much importance to a dishpan?”

“It is the greatest treasure I possess,” replied the woman. “It
belonged to my mother and to all my grandmothers since the beginning of
time. It is, I believe, the very oldest thing in all the Yip Country—or
was while it was there—and,” she added, dropping her voice to an awed
whisper, “it has magic powers!”

“In what way?” inquired the Frogman, seeming to be surprised at this
statement.

“Whoever has owned that dishpan has been a good cook, for one thing. No
one else is able to make such good cookies as I have cooked, as you and
all the Yips know. Yet the very morning after my dishpan was stolen, I
tried to make a batch of cookies and they burned up in the oven! I made
another batch that proved too tough to eat, and I was so ashamed of
them that I buried them in the ground. Even the third batch of cookies,
which I brought with me in my basket, were pretty poor stuff and no
better than any woman could make who does not own my diamond-studded
gold dishpan. In fact, my good Frogman, Cayke the Cookie Cook will
never be able to cook good cookies again until her magic dishpan is
restored to her.”

“In that case,” said the Frogman with a sigh, “I suppose we must manage
to find it.”



CHAPTER 5
OZMA’S FRIENDS ARE PERPLEXED


“Really,” said Dorothy, looking solemn, “this is very s’prising. We
can’t even find a shadow of Ozma anywhere in the Em’rald City, and
wherever she’s gone, she’s taken her Magic Picture with her.” She was
standing in the courtyard of the palace with Betsy and Trot, while
Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, danced around the group, her hair flying in
the wind.

“P’raps,” said Scraps, still dancing, “someone has stolen Ozma.”

“Oh, they’d never dare do that!” exclaimed tiny Trot.

“And stolen the Magic Picture, too, so the thing can’t tell where she
is,” added the Patchwork Girl.

“That’s nonsense,” said Dorothy. “Why, ev’ryone loves Ozma. There isn’t
a person in the Land of Oz who would steal a single thing she owns.”

“Huh!” replied the Patchwork Girl. “You don’t know ev’ry person in the
Land of Oz.”

“Why don’t I?”

“It’s a big country,” said Scraps. “There are cracks and corners in it
that even Ozma doesn’t know of.”

“The Patchwork Girl’s just daffy,” declared Betsy.

“No, she’s right about that,” replied Dorothy thoughtfully. “There are
lots of queer people in this fairyland who never come near Ozma or the
Em’rald City. I’ve seen some of ’em myself, girls. But I haven’t seen
all, of course, and there MIGHT be some wicked persons left in Oz yet,
though I think the wicked witches have all been destroyed.”

Just then the Wooden Sawhorse dashed into the courtyard with the Wizard
of Oz on his back. “Have you found Ozma?” cried the Wizard when the
Sawhorse stopped beside them.

“Not yet,” said Dorothy. “Doesn’t Glinda the Good know where she is?”

“No. Glinda’s Book of Records and all her magic instruments are gone.
Someone must have stolen them.”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Dorothy in alarm. “This is the biggest steal I
ever heard of. Who do you think did it, Wizard?”

“I’ve no idea,” he answered. “But I have come to get my own bag of
magic tools and carry them to Glinda. She is so much more powerful than
I that she may be able to discover the truth by means of my magic
quicker and better than I could myself.”

“Hurry, then,” said Dorothy, “for we’ve all gotten terr’bly worried.”

The Wizard rushed away to his rooms but presently came back with a
long, sad face. “It’s gone!” he said.

“What’s gone?” asked Scraps.

“My black bag of magic tools. Someone must have stolen it!”

They looked at one another in amazement.

“This thing is getting desperate,” continued the Wizard. “All the magic
that belongs to Ozma or to Glinda or to me has been stolen.”

“Do you suppose Ozma could have taken them, herself, for some purpose?”
asked Betsy.

“No indeed,” declared the Wizard. “I suspect some enemy has stolen Ozma
and for fear we would follow and recapture her has taken all our magic
away from us.”

“How dreadful!” cried Dorothy. “The idea of anyone wanting to injure
our dear Ozma! Can’t we do ANYthing to find her, Wizard?”

“I’ll ask Glinda. I must go straight back to her and tell her that my
magic tools have also disappeared. The good Sorceress will be greatly
shocked, I know.”

With this, he jumped upon the back of the Sawhorse again, and the
quaint steed, which never tired, dashed away at full speed. The three
girls were very much disturbed in mind. Even the Patchwork Girl seemed
to realize that a great calamity had overtaken them all. Ozma was a
fairy of considerable power, and all the creatures in Oz as well as the
three mortal girls from the outside world looked upon her as their
protector and friend. The idea of their beautiful girl Ruler’s being
overpowered by an enemy and dragged from her splendid palace a captive
was too astonishing for them to comprehend at first. Yet what other
explanation of the mystery could there be?

“Ozma wouldn’t go away willingly, without letting us know about it,”
asserted Dorothy, “and she wouldn’t steal Glinda’s Great Book of
Records or the Wizard’s magic, ’cause she could get them any time just
by asking for ’em. I’m sure some wicked person has done all this.”

“Someone in the Land of Oz?” asked Trot.

“Of course. No one could get across the Deadly Desert, you know, and no
one but an Oz person could know about the Magic Picture and the Book of
Records and the Wizard’s magic or where they were kept, and so be able
to steal the whole outfit before we could stop ’em. It MUST be someone
who lives in the Land of Oz.”

“But who—who—who?” asked Scraps. “That’s the question. Who?”

“If we knew,” replied Dorothy severely, “we wouldn’t be standing here
doing nothing.”

Just then two boys entered the courtyard and approached the group of
girls. One boy was dressed in the fantastic Munchkin costume—a blue
jacket and knickerbockers, blue leather shoes and a blue hat with a
high peak and tiny silver bells dangling from its rim—and this was Ojo
the Lucky, who had once come from the Munchkin Country of Oz and now
lived in the Emerald City. The other boy was an American from
Philadelphia and had lately found his way to Oz in the company of Trot
and Cap’n Bill. His name was Button-Bright; that is, everyone called
him by that name and knew no other. Button-Bright was not quite as big
as the Munchkin boy, but he wore the same kind of clothes, only they
were of different colors. As the two came up to the girls, arm in arm,
Button-Bright remarked, “Hello, Dorothy. They say Ozma is lost.”

“WHO says so?” she asked.

“Ev’rybody’s talking about it in the City,” he replied.

“I wonder how the people found it out,” Dorothy asked.

“I know,” said Ojo. “Jellia Jamb told them. She has been asking
everywhere if anyone has seen Ozma.”

“That’s too bad,” observed Dorothy, frowning.

“Why?” asked Button-Bright.

“There wasn’t any use making all our people unhappy till we were dead
certain that Ozma can’t be found.”

“Pshaw,” said Button-Bright, “it’s nothing to get lost. I’ve been lost
lots of times.”

“That’s true,” admitted Trot, who knew that the boy had a habit of
getting lost and then finding himself again, “but it’s diff’rent with
Ozma. She’s the Ruler of all this big fairyland, and we’re ’fraid that
the reason she’s lost is because somebody has stolen her away.”

“Only wicked people steal,” said Ojo. “Do you know of any wicked people
in Oz, Dorothy?”

“No,” she replied.

“They’re here, though,” cried Scraps, dancing up to them and then
circling around the group. “Ozma’s stolen; someone in Oz stole her;
only wicked people steal; so someone in Oz is wicked!”

There was no denying the truth of this statement. The faces of all of
them were now solemn and sorrowful. “One thing is sure,” said
Button-Bright after a time, “if Ozma has been stolen, someone ought to
find her and punish the thief.”

“There may be a lot of thieves,” suggested Trot gravely, “and in this
fairy country they don’t seem to have any soldiers or policemen.”

“There is one soldier,” claimed Dorothy.

“He has green whiskers and a gun and is a Major-General, but no one is
afraid of either his gun or his whiskers, ’cause he’s so tender-hearted
that he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Well, a soldier is a soldier,” said Betsy, “and perhaps he’d hurt a
wicked thief if he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Where is he?”

“He went fishing about two months ago and hasn’t come back yet,”
explained Button-Bright.

“Then I can’t see that he will be of much use to us in this trouble,”
sighed little Trot. “But p’raps Ozma, who is a fairy, can get away from
the thieves without any help from anyone.”

“She MIGHT be able to,” answered Dorothy reflectively, “but if she had
the power to do that, it isn’t likely she’d have let herself be stolen.
So the thieves must have been even more powerful in magic than our
Ozma.”

There was no denying this argument, and although they talked the matter
over all the rest of that day, they were unable to decide how Ozma had
been stolen against her will or who had committed the dreadful deed.
Toward evening the Wizard came back, riding slowly upon the Sawhorse
because he felt discouraged and perplexed. Glinda came later in her
aerial chariot drawn by twenty milk-white swans, and she also seemed
worried and unhappy. More of Ozma’s friends joined them, and that
evening they all had a big talk together. “I think,” said Dorothy, “we
ought to start out right away in search of our dear Ozma. It seems
cruel for us to live comf’tably in her palace while she is a pris’ner
in the power of some wicked enemy.”

“Yes,” agreed Glinda the Sorceress, “someone ought to search for her. I
cannot go myself, because I must work hard in order to create some new
instruments of sorcery by means of which I may rescue our fair Ruler.
But if you can find her in the meantime and let me know who has stolen
her, it will enable me to rescue her much more quickly.”

“Then we’ll start tomorrow morning,” decided Dorothy. “Betsy and Trot
and I won’t waste another minute.”

“I’m not sure you girls will make good detectives,” remarked the
Wizard, “but I’ll go with you to protect you from harm and to give you
my advice. All my wizardry, alas, is stolen, so I am now really no more
a wizard than any of you, but I will try to protect you from any
enemies you may meet.”

“What harm could happen to us in Oz?” inquired Trot.

“What harm happened to Ozma?” returned the Wizard.

“If there is an Evil Power abroad in our fairyland, which is able to
steal not only Ozma and her Magic Picture, but Glinda’s Book of Records
and all her magic, and my black bag containing all my tricks of
wizardry, then that Evil Power may yet cause us considerable injury.
Ozma is a fairy, and so is Glinda, so no power can kill or destroy
them, but you girls are all mortals and so are Button-Bright and I, so
we must watch out for ourselves.”

“Nothing can kill me,” said Ojo the Munchkin boy.

“That is true,” replied the Sorceress, “and I think it may be well to
divide the searchers into several parties, that they may cover all the
land of Oz more quickly. So I will send Ojo and Unc Nunkie and Dr. Pipt
into the Munchkin Country, which they are well acquainted with; and I
will send the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman into the Quadling Country,
for they are fearless and brave and never tire; and to the Gillikin
Country, where many dangers lurk, I will send the Shaggy Man and his
brother, with Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead. Dorothy may make up her own
party and travel into the Winkie Country. All of you must inquire
everywhere for Ozma and try to discover where she is hidden.”

They thought this a very wise plan and adopted it without question. In
Ozma’s absence, Glinda the Good was the most important person in Oz,
and all were glad to serve under her direction.



CHAPTER 6
THE SEARCH PARTY


Next morning as soon as the sun was up, Glinda flew back to her castle,
stopping on the way to instruct the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who
were at that time staying at the college of Professor H. M. Wogglebug,
T.E., and taking a course of his Patent Educational Pills.

On hearing of Ozma’s loss, they started at once for the Quadling
Country to search for her. As soon as Glinda had left the Emerald City,
Tik-Tok and the Shaggy Man and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had been present
at the conference, began their journey into the Gillikin Country, and
an hour later Ojo and Unc Nunkie joined Dr. Pipt and together they
traveled toward the Munchkin Country. When all these searchers were
gone, Dorothy and the Wizard completed their own preparations.

The Wizard hitched the Sawhorse to the Red Wagon, which would seat four
very comfortably. He wanted Dorothy, Betsy, Trot and the Patchwork Girl
to ride in the wagon, but Scraps came up to them mounted upon the
Woozy, and the Woozy said he would like to join the party. Now this
Woozy was a most peculiar animal, having a square head, square body,
square legs and square tail. His skin was very tough and hard,
resembling leather, and while his movements were somewhat clumsy, the
beast could travel with remarkable swiftness. His square eyes were mild
and gentle in expression, and he was not especially foolish. The Woozy
and the Patchwork Girl were great friends, and so the Wizard agreed to
let the Woozy go with them.

Another great beast now appeared and asked to go along. This was none
other than the famous Cowardly Lion, one of the most interesting
creatures in all Oz. No lion that roamed the jungles or plains could
compare in size or intelligence with this Cowardly Lion, who—like all
animals living in Oz—could talk and who talked with more shrewdness and
wisdom than many of the people did. He said he was cowardly because he
always trembled when he faced danger, but he had faced danger many
times and never refused to fight when it was necessary. This Lion was a
great favorite with Ozma and always guarded her throne on state
occasions. He was also an old companion and friend of the Princess
Dorothy, so the girl was delighted to have him join the party.

“I’m so nervous over our dear Ozma,” said the Cowardly Lion in his
deep, rumbling voice, “that it would make me unhappy to remain behind
while you are trying to find her. But do not get into any danger, I beg
of you, for danger frightens me terribly.”

“We’ll not get into danger if we can poss’bly help it,” promised
Dorothy, “but we shall do anything to find Ozma, danger or no danger.”

The addition of the Woozy and the Cowardly Lion to the party gave Betsy
Bobbin an idea, and she ran to the marble stables at the rear of the
palace and brought out her mule, Hank by name. Perhaps no mule you ever
saw was so lean and bony and altogether plain looking as this Hank, but
Betsy loved him dearly because he was faithful and steady and not
nearly so stupid as most mules are considered to be. Betsy had a saddle
for Hank, and he declared she would ride on his back, an arrangement
approved by the Wizard because it left only four of the party to ride
on the seats of the Red Wagon—Dorothy and Button-Bright and Trot and
himself.

An old sailor man who had one wooden leg came to see them off and
suggested that they put a supply of food and blankets in the Red Wagon
inasmuch as they were uncertain how long they would be gone. This
sailor man was called Cap’n Bill. He was a former friend and comrade of
Trot and had encountered many adventures in company with the little
girl. I think he was sorry he could not go with her on this trip, but
Glinda the Sorceress had asked Cap’n Bill to remain in the Emerald City
and take charge of the royal palace while everyone else was away, and
the one-legged sailor had agreed to do so.

They loaded the back end of the Red Wagon with everything they thought
they might need, and then they formed a procession and marched from the
palace through the Emerald City to the great gates of the wall that
surrounded this beautiful capital of the Land of Oz. Crowds of citizens
lined the streets to see them pass and to cheer them and wish them
success, for all were grieved over Ozma’s loss and anxious that she be
found again. First came the Cowardly Lion, then the Patchwork Girl
riding upon the Woozy, then Betsy Bobbin on her mule Hank, and finally
the Sawhorse drawing the Red Wagon, in which were seated the Wizard and
Dorothy and Button-Bright and Trot. No one was obliged to drive the
Sawhorse, so there were no reins to his harness; one had only to tell
him which way to go, fast or slow, and he understood perfectly.

It was about this time that a shaggy little black dog who had been
lying asleep in Dorothy’s room in the palace woke up and discovered he
was lonesome. Everything seemed very still throughout the great
building, and Toto—that was the little dog’s name—missed the customary
chatter of the three girls. He never paid much attention to what was
going on around him, and although he could speak, he seldom said
anything, so the little dog did not know about Ozma’s loss or that
everyone had gone in search of her. But he liked to be with people, and
especially with his own mistress, Dorothy, and having yawned and
stretched himself and found the door of the room ajar, he trotted out
into the corridor and went down the stately marble stairs to the hall
of the palace, where he met Jellia Jamb.

“Where’s Dorothy?” asked Toto.

“She’s gone to the Winkie Country,” answered the maid.

“When?”

“A little while ago,” replied Jellia.

Toto turned and trotted out into the palace garden and down the long
driveway until he came to the streets of the Emerald City. Here he
paused to listen, and hearing sounds of cheering, he ran swiftly along
until he came in sight of the Red Wagon and the Woozy and the Lion and
the Mule and all the others. Being a wise little dog, he decided not to
show himself to Dorothy just then, lest he be sent back home, but he
never lost sight of the party of travelers, all of whom were so eager
to get ahead that they never thought to look behind them. When they
came to the gates in the city wall, the Guardian of the Gates came out
to throw wide the golden portals and let them pass through.

“Did any strange person come in or out of the city on the night before
last when Ozma was stolen?” asked Dorothy.

“No indeed, Princess,” answered the Guardian of the Gates.

“Of course not,” said the Wizard. “Anyone clever enough to steal all
the things we have lost would not mind the barrier of a wall like this
in the least. I think the thief must have flown through the air, for
otherwise he could not have stolen from Ozma’s royal palace and
Glinda’s faraway castle in the same night. Moreover, as there are no
airships in Oz and no way for airships from the outside world to get
into this country, I believe the thief must have flown from place to
place by means of magic arts which neither Glinda nor I understand.”

On they went, and before the gates closed behind them, Toto managed to
dodge through them. The country surrounding the Emerald City was
thickly settled, and for a while our friends rode over nicely paved
roads which wound through a fertile country dotted with beautiful
houses, all built in the quaint Oz fashion. In the course of a few
hours, however, they had left the tilled fields and entered the Country
of the Winkies, which occupies a quarter of all the territory in the
Land of Oz but is not so well known as many other parts of Ozma’s
fairyland. Long before night the travelers had crossed the Winkie River
near to the Scarecrow’s Tower (which was now vacant) and had entered
the Rolling Prairie where few people live. They asked everyone they met
for news of Ozma, but none in this district had seen her or even knew
that she had been stolen. And by nightfall they had passed all the
farmhouses and were obliged to stop and ask for shelter at the hut of a
lonely shepherd. When they halted, Toto was not far behind. The little
dog halted, too, and stealing softly around the party, he hid himself
behind the hut.

The shepherd was a kindly old man and treated the travelers with much
courtesy. He slept out of doors that night, giving up his hut to the
three girls, who made their beds on the floor with the blankets they
had brought in the Red Wagon. The Wizard and Button-Bright also slept
out of doors, and so did the Cowardly Lion and Hank the Mule. But
Scraps and the Sawhorse did not sleep at all, and the Woozy could stay
awake for a month at a time if he wished to, so these three sat in a
little group by themselves and talked together all through the night.

In the darkness, the Cowardly Lion felt a shaggy little form nestling
beside his own, and he said sleepily, “Where did you come from, Toto?”

“From home,” said the dog. “If you roll over, roll the other way so you
won’t smash me.”

“Does Dorothy know you are here?” asked the Lion.

“I believe not,” admitted Toto, and he added a little anxiously, “Do
you think, friend Lion, we are now far enough from the Emerald City for
me to risk showing myself, or will Dorothy send me back because I
wasn’t invited?”

“Only Dorothy can answer that question,” said the Lion. “For my part,
Toto, I consider this affair none of my business, so you must act as
you think best.” Then the huge beast went to sleep again, and Toto
snuggled closer to the warm, hairy body and also slept. He was a wise
little dog in his way, and didn’t intend to worry when there was
something much better to do.

In the morning the Wizard built a fire, over which the girls cooked a
very good breakfast. Suddenly Dorothy discovered Toto sitting quietly
before the fire, and the little girl exclaimed, “Goodness me, Toto!
Where did YOU come from?”

“From the place you cruelly left me,” replied the dog in a reproachful
tone.

“I forgot all about you,” admitted Dorothy, “and if I hadn’t, I’d
prob’ly left you with Jellia Jamb, seeing this isn’t a pleasure trip
but stric’ly business. But now that you’re here, Toto, I s’pose you’ll
have to stay with us, unless you’d rather go back again. We may get
ourselves into trouble before we’re done, Toto.”

“Never mind that,” said Toto, wagging his tail. “I’m hungry, Dorothy.”

“Breakfas’ll soon be ready, and then you shall have your share,”
promised his little mistress, who was really glad to have her dog with
her. She and Toto had traveled together before, and she knew he was a
good and faithful comrade.

When the food was cooked and served, the girls invited the old shepherd
to join them in the morning meal. He willingly consented, and while
they ate he said to them, “You are now about to pass through a very
dangerous country, unless you turn to the north or to the south to
escape its perils.”

“In that case,” said the Cowardly Lion, “let us turn, by all means, for
I dread to face dangers of any sort.”

“What’s the matter with the country ahead of us?” inquired Dorothy.

“Beyond this Rolling Prairie,” explained the shepherd, “are the
Merry-Go-Round Mountains, set close together and surrounded by deep
gulfs so that no one is able to get past them. Beyond the
Merry-Go-Round Mountains it is said the Thistle-Eaters and the Herkus
live.”

“What are they like?” demanded Dorothy.

“No one knows, for no one has ever passed the Merry-Go-Round
Mountains,” was the reply, “but it is said that the Thistle-Eaters
hitch dragons to their chariots and that the Herkus are waited upon by
giants whom they have conquered and made their slaves.”

“Who says all that?” asked Betsy.

“It is common report,” declared the shepherd. “Everyone believes it.”

“I don’t see how they know,” remarked little Trot, “if no one has been
there.”

“Perhaps the birds who fly over that country brought the news,”
suggested Betsy.

“If you escaped those dangers,” continued the shepherd, “you might
encounter others still more serious before you came to the next branch
of the Winkie River. It is true that beyond that river there lies a
fine country inhabited by good people, and if you reached there, you
would have no further trouble. It is between here and the west branch
of the Winkie River that all dangers lie, for that is the unknown
territory that is inhabited by terrible, lawless people.”

“It may be, and it may not be,” said the Wizard. “We shall know when we
get there.”

“Well,” persisted the shepherd, “in a fairy country such as ours, every
undiscovered place is likely to harbor wicked creatures. If they were
not wicked, they would discover themselves and by coming among us
submit to Ozma’s rule and be good and considerate, as are all the Oz
people whom we know.”

“That argument,” stated the little Wizard, “convinces me that it is our
duty to go straight to those unknown places, however dangerous they may
be, for it is surely some cruel and wicked person who has stolen our
Ozma, and we know it would be folly to search among good people for the
culprit. Ozma may not be hidden in the secret places of the Winkie
Country, it is true, but it is our duty to travel to every spot,
however dangerous, where our beloved Ruler is likely to be imprisoned.”

“You’re right about that,” said Button-Bright approvingly. “Dangers
don’t hurt us. Only things that happen ever hurt anyone, and a danger
is a thing that might happen and might not happen, and sometimes don’t
amount to shucks. I vote we go ahead and take our chances.”

They were all of the same opinion, so they packed up and said goodbye
to the friendly shepherd and proceeded on their way.



CHAPTER 7
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND MOUNTAINS


The Rolling Prairie was not difficult to travel over, although it was
all uphill and downhill, so for a while they made good progress. Not
even a shepherd was to be met with now, and the farther they advanced
the more dreary the landscape became. At noon they stopped for a
“picnic luncheon,” as Betsy called it, and then they again resumed
their journey. All the animals were swift and tireless, and even the
Cowardly Lion and the Mule found they could keep up with the pace of
the Woozy and the Sawhorse.

It was the middle of the afternoon when first they came in sight of a
cluster of low mountains. These were cone-shaped, rising from broad
bases to sharp peaks at the tops. From a distance the mountains
appeared indistinct and seemed rather small—more like hills than
mountains—but as the travelers drew nearer, they noted a most unusual
circumstance: the hills were all whirling around, some in one direction
and some the opposite way.

“I guess these are the Merry-Go-Round Mountains, all right,” said
Dorothy.

“They must be,” said the Wizard.

“They go ’round, sure enough,” agreed Trot, “but they don’t seem very
merry.”

There were several rows of these mountains, extending both to the right
and to the left for miles and miles. How many rows there might be none
could tell, but between the first row of peaks could be seen other
peaks, all steadily whirling around one way or another. Continuing to
ride nearer, our friends watched these hills attentively, until at
last, coming close up, they discovered there was a deep but narrow gulf
around the edge of each mountain, and that the mountains were set so
close together that the outer gulf was continuous and barred farther
advance. At the edge of the gulf they all dismounted and peered over
into its depths. There was no telling where the bottom was, if indeed
there was any bottom at all. From where they stood it seemed as if the
mountains had been set in one great hole in the ground, just close
enough together so they would not touch, and that each mountain was
supported by a rocky column beneath its base which extended far down in
the black pit below. From the land side it seemed impossible to get
across the gulf or, succeeding in that, to gain a foothold on any of
the whirling mountains.

“This ditch is too wide to jump across,” remarked Button-Bright.

“P’raps the Lion could do it,” suggested Dorothy.

“What, jump from here to that whirling hill?” cried the Lion
indignantly. “I should say not! Even if I landed there and could hold
on, what good would it do? There’s another spinning mountain beyond it,
and perhaps still another beyond that. I don’t believe any living
creature could jump from one mountain to another when both are whirling
like tops and in different directions.”

“I propose we turn back,” said the Wooden Sawhorse with a yawn of his
chopped-out mouth as he stared with his knot eyes at the Merry-Go-Round
Mountains.

“I agree with you,” said the Woozy, wagging his square head.

“We should have taken the shepherd’s advice,” added Hank the Mule.

The others of the party, however they might be puzzled by the serious
problem that confronted them, would not allow themselves to despair.
“If we once get over these mountains,” said Button-Bright, “we could
probably get along all right.”

“True enough,” agreed Dorothy. “So we must find some way, of course, to
get past these whirligig hills. But how?”

“I wish the Ork was with us,” sighed Trot.

“But the Ork isn’t here,” said the Wizard, “and we must depend upon
ourselves to conquer this difficulty. Unfortunately, all my magic has
been stolen, otherwise I am sure I could easily get over the
mountains.”

“Unfortunately,” observed the Woozy, “none of us has wings. And we’re
in a magic country without any magic.”

“What is that around your waist, Dorothy?” asked the Wizard.

“That? Oh, that’s just the Magic Belt I once captured from the Nome
King,” she replied.

“A Magic Belt! Why, that’s fine. I’m sure a Magic Belt would take you
over these hills.”

“It might if I knew how to work it,” said the little girl. “Ozma knows
a lot of its magic, but I’ve never found out about it. All I know is
that while I am wearing it, nothing can hurt me.”

“Try wishing yourself across and see if it will obey you,” suggested
the Wizard.

“But what good would that do?” asked Dorothy. “If I got across, it
wouldn’t help the rest of you, and I couldn’t go alone among all those
giants and dragons while you stayed here.”

“True enough,” agreed the Wizard sadly. And then, after looking around
the group, he inquired, “What is that on your finger, Trot?”

“A ring. The Mermaids gave it to me,” she explained, “and if ever I’m
in trouble when I’m on the water, I can call the Mermaids and they’ll
come and help me. But the Mermaids can’t help me on the land, you know,
’cause they swim, and—and—they haven’t any legs.”

“True enough,” repeated the Wizard, more sadly.

There was a big, broad, spreading tree near the edge of the gulf, and
as the sun was hot above them, they all gathered under the shade of the
tree to study the problem of what to do next. “If we had a long rope,”
said Betsy, “we could fasten it to this tree and let the other end of
it down into the gulf and all slide down it.”

“Well, what then?” asked the Wizard.

“Then, if we could manage to throw the rope up the other side,”
explained the girl, “we could all climb it and be on the other side of
the gulf.”

“There are too many ‘if’s’ in that suggestion,” remarked the little
Wizard. “And you must remember that the other side is nothing but
spinning mountains, so we couldn’t possibly fasten a rope to them, even
if we had one.”

“That rope idea isn’t half bad, though,” said the Patchwork Girl, who
had been dancing dangerously near to the edge of the gulf.

“What do you mean?” asked Dorothy.

The Patchwork Girl suddenly stood still and cast her button eyes around
the group. “Ha, I have it!” she exclaimed. “Unharness the Sawhorse,
somebody. My fingers are too clumsy.”

“Shall we?” asked Button-Bright doubtfully, turning to the others.

“Well, Scraps has a lot of brains, even if she IS stuffed with cotton,”
asserted the Wizard. “If her brains can help us out of this trouble, we
ought to use them.”

So he began unharnessing the Sawhorse, and Button-Bright and Dorothy
helped him. When they had removed the harness, the Patchwork Girl told
them to take it all apart and buckle the straps together, end to end.
And after they had done this, they found they had one very long strap
that was stronger than any rope. “It would reach across the gulf
easily,” said the Lion, who with the other animals had sat on his
haunches and watched this proceeding. “But I don’t see how it could be
fastened to one of those dizzy mountains.”

Scraps had no such notion as that in her baggy head. She told them to
fasten one end of the strap to a stout limb of the tree, pointing to
one which extended quite to the edge of the gulf. Button-Bright did
that, climbing the tree and then crawling out upon the limb until he
was nearly over the gulf. There he managed to fasten the strap, which
reached to the ground below, and then he slid down it and was caught by
the Wizard, who feared he might fall into the chasm. Scraps was
delighted. She seized the lower end of the strap, and telling them all
to get out of her way, she went back as far as the strap would reach
and then made a sudden run toward the gulf. Over the edge she swung,
clinging to the strap until it had gone as far as its length permitted,
when she let go and sailed gracefully through the air until she
alighted upon the mountain just in front of them.

Almost instantly, as the great cone continued to whirl, she was sent
flying against the next mountain in the rear, and that one had only
turned halfway around when Scraps was sent flying to the next mountain
behind it. Then her patchwork form disappeared from view entirely, and
the amazed watchers under the tree wondered what had become of her.
“She’s gone, and she can’t get back,” said the Woozy.

“My, how she bounded from one mountain to another!” exclaimed the Lion.

“That was because they whirl so fast,” the Wizard explained. “Scraps
had nothing to hold on to, and so of course she was tossed from one
hill to another. I’m afraid we shall never see the poor Patchwork Girl
again.”

“I shall see her,” declared the Woozy. “Scraps is an old friend of
mine, and if there are really Thistle-Eaters and Giants on the other
side of those tops, she will need someone to protect her. So here I
go!” He seized the dangling strap firmly in his square mouth, and in
the same way that Scraps had done swung himself over the gulf. He let
go the strap at the right moment and fell upon the first whirling
mountain. Then he bounded to the next one back of it—not on his feet,
but “all mixed up,” as Trot said—and then he shot across to another
mountain, disappearing from view just as the Patchwork Girl had done.

“It seems to work, all right,” remarked Button-Bright. “I guess I’ll
try it.”

“Wait a minute,” urged the Wizard. “Before any more of us make this
desperate leap into the beyond, we must decide whether all will go or
if some of us will remain behind.”

“Do you s’pose it hurt them much to bump against those mountains?”
asked Trot.

“I don’t s’pose anything could hurt Scraps or the Woozy,” said Dorothy,
“and nothing can hurt ME, because I wear the Magic Belt. So as I’m
anxious to find Ozma, I mean to swing myself across too.”

“I’ll take my chances,” decided Button-Bright.

“I’m sure it will hurt dreadfully, and I’m afraid to do it,” said the
Lion, who was already trembling, “but I shall do it if Dorothy does.”

“Well, that will leave Betsy and the Mule and Trot,” said the Wizard,
“for of course I shall go that I may look after Dorothy. Do you two
girls think you can find your way back home again?” he asked,
addressing Trot and Betsy.

“I’m not afraid. Not much, that is,” said Trot. “It looks risky, I
know, but I’m sure I can stand it if the others can.”

“If it wasn’t for leaving Hank,” began Betsy in a hesitating voice.

But the Mule interrupted her by saying, “Go ahead if you want to, and
I’ll come after you. A mule is as brave as a lion any day.”

“Braver,” said the Lion, “for I’m a coward, friend Hank, and you are
not. But of course the Sawhorse—”

“Oh, nothing ever hurts ME,” asserted the Sawhorse calmly. “There’s
never been any question about my going. I can’t take the Red Wagon,
though.”

“No, we must leave the wagon,” said the wizard, “and also we must leave
our food and blankets, I fear. But if we can defy these Merry-Go-Round
Mountains to stop us, we won’t mind the sacrifice of some of our
comforts.”

“No one knows where we’re going to land!” remarked the Lion in a voice
that sounded as if he were going to cry.

“We may not land at all,” replied Hank, “but the best way to find out
what will happen to us is to swing across as Scraps and the Woozy have
done.”

“I think I shall go last,” said the Wizard, “so who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go,” decided Dorothy.

“No, it’s my turn first,” said Button-Bright. “Watch me!”

Even as he spoke, the boy seized the strap, and after making a run
swung himself across the gulf. Away he went, bumping from hill to hill
until he disappeared. They listened intently, but the boy uttered no
cry until he had been gone some moments, when they heard a faint
“Hullo-a!” as if called from a great distance. The sound gave them
courage, however, and Dorothy picked up Toto and held him fast under
one arm while with the other hand she seized the strap and bravely
followed after Button-Bright.

When she struck the first whirling mountain, she fell upon it quite
softly, but before she had time to think, she flew through the air and
lit with a jar on the side of the next mountain. Again she flew and
alighted, and again and still again, until after five successive bumps
she fell sprawling upon a green meadow and was so dazed and bewildered
by her bumpy journey across the Merry-Go-Round Mountains that she lay
quite still for a time to collect her thoughts. Toto had escaped from
her arms just as she fell, and he now sat beside her panting with
excitement. Then Dorothy realized that someone was helping her to her
feet, and here was Button-Bright on one side of her and Scraps on the
other, both seeming to be unhurt. The next object her eyes fell upon
was the Woozy, squatting upon his square back end and looking at her
reflectively, while Toto barked joyously to find his mistress unhurt
after her whirlwind trip.

“Good!” said the Woozy. “Here’s another and a dog, both safe and sound.
But my word, Dorothy, you flew some! If you could have seen yourself,
you’d have been absolutely astonished.”

“They say ‘Time flies,’” laughed Button-Bright, “but Time never made a
quicker journey than that.”

Just then, as Dorothy turned around to look at the whirling mountains,
she was in time to see tiny Trot come flying from the nearest hill to
fall upon the soft grass not a yard away from where she stood. Trot was
so dizzy she couldn’t stand at first, but she wasn’t at all hurt, and
presently Betsy came flying to them and would have bumped into the
others had they not retreated in time to avoid her. Then, in quick
succession, came the Lion, Hank and the Sawhorse, bounding from
mountain to mountain to fall safely upon the greensward. Only the
Wizard was now left behind, and they waited so long for him that
Dorothy began to be worried.

But suddenly he came flying from the nearest mountain and tumbled heels
over head beside them. Then they saw that he had wound two of their
blankets around his body to keep the bumps from hurting him and had
fastened the blankets with some of the spare straps from the harness of
the Sawhorse.



CHAPTER 8
THE MYSTERIOUS CITY


There they sat upon the grass, their heads still swimming from their
dizzy flights, and looked at one another in silent bewilderment. But
presently, when assured that no one was injured, they grew more calm
and collected, and the Lion said with a sigh of relief, “Who would have
thought those Merry-Go-Round Mountains were made of rubber?”

“Are they really rubber?” asked Trot.

“They must be,” replied the Lion, “for otherwise we would not have
bounded so swiftly from one to another without getting hurt.”

“That is all guesswork,” declared the Wizard, unwinding the blankets
from his body, “for none of us stayed long enough on the mountains to
discover what they are made of. But where are we?”

“That’s guesswork,” said Scraps. “The shepherd said the Thistle-Eaters
live this side of the mountains and are waited on by giants.”

“Oh no,” said Dorothy, “it’s the Herkus who have giant slaves, and the
Thistle-Eaters hitch dragons to their chariots.”

“How could they do that?” asked the Woozy. “Dragons have long tails,
which would get in the way of the chariot wheels.”

“And if the Herkus have conquered the giants,” said Trot, “they must be
at least twice the size of giants. P’raps the Herkus are the biggest
people in all the world!”

“Perhaps they are,” assented the Wizard in a thoughtful tone of voice.
“And perhaps the shepherd didn’t know what he was talking about. Let us
travel on toward the west and discover for ourselves what the people of
this country are like.”

It seemed a pleasant enough country, and it was quite still and
peaceful when they turned their eyes away from the silently whirling
mountains. There were trees here and there and green bushes, while
throughout the thick grass were scattered brilliantly colored flowers.
About a mile away was a low hill that hid from them all the country
beyond it, so they realized they could not tell much about the country
until they had crossed the hill. The Red Wagon having been left behind,
it was now necessary to make other arrangements for traveling. The Lion
told Dorothy she could ride upon his back as she had often done before,
and the Woozy said he could easily carry both Trot and the Patchwork
Girl. Betsy still had her mule, Hank, and Button-Bright and the Wizard
could sit together upon the long, thin back of the Sawhorse, but they
took care to soften their seat with a pad of blankets before they
started. Thus mounted, the adventurers started for the hill, which was
reached after a brief journey.

As they mounted the crest and gazed beyond the hill, they discovered
not far away a walled city, from the towers and spires of which gay
banners were flying. It was not a very big city, indeed, but its walls
were very high and thick, and it appeared that the people who lived
there must have feared attack by a powerful enemy, else they would not
have surrounded their dwellings with so strong a barrier. There was no
path leading from the mountains to the city, and this proved that the
people seldom or never visited the whirling hills, but our friends
found the grass soft and agreeable to travel over, and with the city
before them they could not well lose their way. When they drew nearer
to the walls, the breeze carried to their ears the sound of music—dim
at first, but growing louder as they advanced.

“That doesn’t seem like a very terr’ble place,” remarked Dorothy.

“Well, it LOOKS all right,” replied Trot from her seat on the Woozy,
“but looks can’t always be trusted.”

“MY looks can,” said Scraps. “I LOOK patchwork, and I AM patchwork, and
no one but a blind owl could ever doubt that I’m the Patchwork Girl.”
Saying which, she turned a somersault off the Woozy and, alighting on
her feet, began wildly dancing about.

“Are owls ever blind?” asked Trot.

“Always, in the daytime,” said Button-Bright. “But Scraps can see with
her button eyes both day and night. Isn’t it queer?”

“It’s queer that buttons can see at all,” answered Trot. “But good
gracious! What’s become of the city?”

“I was going to ask that myself,” said Dorothy. “It’s gone!”

“It’s gone!”

The animals came to a sudden halt, for the city had really disappeared,
walls and all, and before them lay the clear, unbroken sweep of the
country. “Dear me!” exclaimed the Wizard. “This is rather disagreeable.
It is annoying to travel almost to a place and then find it is not
there.”

“Where can it be, then?” asked Dorothy. “It cert’nly was there a minute
ago.”

“I can hear the music yet,” declared Button-Bright, and when they all
listened, the strains of music could plainly be heard.

“Oh! There’s the city over at the left,” called Scraps, and turning
their eyes, they saw the walls and towers and fluttering banners far to
the left of them.

“We must have lost our way,” suggested Dorothy.

“Nonsense,” said the Lion.

“I, and all the other animals, have been tramping straight toward the
city ever since we first saw it.”

“Then how does it happen—”

“Never mind,” interrupted the Wizard, “we are no farther from it than
we were before. It is in a different direction, that’s all, so let us
hurry and get there before it again escapes us.”

So on they went directly toward the city, which seemed only a couple of
miles distant. But when they had traveled less than a mile, it suddenly
disappeared again. Once more they paused, somewhat discouraged, but in
a moment the button eyes of Scraps again discovered the city, only this
time it was just behind them in the direction from which they had come.
“Goodness gracious!” cried Dorothy. “There’s surely something wrong
with that city. Do you s’pose it’s on wheels, Wizard?”

“It may not be a city at all,” he replied, looking toward it with a
speculative glance.

“What COULD it be, then?”

“Just an illusion.”

“What’s that?” asked Trot.

“Something you think you see and don’t see.”

“I can’t believe that,” said Button-Bright. “If we only saw it, we
might be mistaken, but if we can see it and hear it, too, it must be
there.”

“Where?” asked the Patchwork Girl.

“Somewhere near us,” he insisted.

“We will have to go back, I suppose,” said the Woozy with a sigh.

So back they turned and headed for the walled city until it disappeared
again, only to reappear at the right of them. They were constantly
getting nearer to it, however, so they kept their faces turned toward
it as it flitted here and there to all points of the compass. Presently
the Lion, who was leading the procession, halted abruptly and cried
out, “Ouch!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Dorothy.

“Ouch—Ouch!” repeated the Lion, and leaped backward so suddenly that
Dorothy nearly tumbled from his back. At the same time Hank the Mule
yelled “Ouch!”

“Ouch! Ouch!” repeated the Lion and leaped backward so suddenly that
Dorothy nearly tumbled from his back. At the same time, Hank the Mule
yelled “Ouch!” almost as loudly as the Lion had done, and he also
pranced backward a few paces.

“It’s the thistles,” said Betsy. “They prick their legs.”

Hearing this, all looked down, and sure enough the ground was thick
with thistles, which covered the plain from the point where they stood
way up to the walls of the mysterious city. No pathways through them
could be seen at all; here the soft grass ended and the growth of
thistles began. “They’re the prickliest thistles I ever felt,” grumbled
the Lion. “My legs smart yet from their stings, though I jumped out of
them as quickly as I could.”

“Here is a new difficulty,” remarked the Wizard in a grieved tone. “The
city has stopped hopping around, it is true, but how are we to get to
it over this mass of prickers?”

“They can’t hurt ME,” said the thick-skinned Woozy, advancing
fearlessly and trampling among the thistles.

“Nor me,” said the Wooden Sawhorse.

“But the Lion and the Mule cannot stand the prickers,” asserted
Dorothy, “and we can’t leave them behind.”

“Must we all go back?” asked Trot.

“Course not!” replied Button-Bright scornfully. “Always when there’s
trouble, there’s a way out of it if you can find it.”

“I wish the Scarecrow was here,” said Scraps, standing on her head on
the Woozy’s square back. “His splendid brains would soon show us how to
conquer this field of thistles.”

“What’s the matter with YOUR brains?” asked the boy.

“Nothing,” she said, making a flip-flop into the thistles and dancing
among them without feeling their sharp points. “I could tell you in
half a minute how to get over the thistles if I wanted to.”

“Tell us, Scraps!” begged Dorothy.

“I don’t want to wear my brains out with overwork,” replied the
Patchwork Girl.

“Don’t you love Ozma? And don’t you want to find her?” asked Betsy
reproachfully.

“Yes indeed,” said Scraps, walking on her hands as an acrobat does at
the circus.

“Well, we can’t find Ozma unless we get past these thistles,” declared
Dorothy.

Scraps danced around them two or three times without reply. Then she
said, “Don’t look at me, you stupid folks. Look at those blankets.”

The Wizard’s face brightened at once.

“Why didn’t we think of those blankets before?”

“Because you haven’t magic brains,” laughed Scraps. “Such brains as you
have are of the common sort that grow in your heads, like weeds in a
garden. I’m sorry for you people who have to be born in order to be
alive.”

But the Wizard was not listening to her. He quickly removed the
blankets from the back of the Sawhorse and spread one of them upon the
thistles, just next the grass. The thick cloth rendered the prickers
harmless, so the Wizard walked over this first blanket and spread the
second one farther on, in the direction of the phantom city. “These
blankets,” said he, “are for the Lion and the Mule to walk upon. The
Sawhorse and the Woozy can walk on the thistles.”

So the Lion and the Mule walked over the first blanket and stood upon
the second one until the Wizard had picked up the one they had passed
over and spread it in front of them, when they advanced to that one and
waited while the one behind them was again spread in front. “This is
slow work,” said the Wizard, “but it will get us to the city after a
while.”

“The city is a good half mile away yet,” announced Button-Bright.

“And this is awful hard work for the Wizard,” added Trot.

“Why couldn’t the Lion ride on the Woozy’s back?” asked Dorothy. “It’s
a big, flat back, and the Woozy’s mighty strong. Perhaps the Lion
wouldn’t fall off.”

“You may try it if you like,” said the Woozy to the Lion. “I can take
you to the city in a jiffy and then come back for Hank.”

“I’m—I’m afraid,” said the Cowardly Lion. He was twice as big as the
Woozy.

“Try it,” pleaded Dorothy.

“And take a tumble among the thistles?” asked the Lion reproachfully.

But when the Woozy came close to him, the big beast suddenly bounded
upon its back and managed to balance himself there, although forced to
hold his four legs so close together that he was in danger of toppling
over. The great weight of the monster Lion did not seem to affect the
Woozy, who called to his rider, “Hold on tight!” and ran swiftly over
the thistles toward the city.

The others stood on the blanket and watched the strange sight
anxiously. Of course, the Lion couldn’t “hold on tight” because there
was nothing to hold to, and he swayed from side to side as if likely to
fall off any moment. Still, he managed to stick to the Woozy’s back
until they were close to the walls of the city, when he leaped to the
ground. Next moment the Woozy came dashing back at full speed.

“There’s a little strip of ground next the wall where there are no
thistles,” he told them when he had reached the adventurers once more.
“Now then, friend Hank, see if you can ride as well as the Lion did.”

“Take the others first,” proposed the Mule. So the Sawhorse and the
Woozy made a couple of trips over the thistles to the city walls and
carried all the people in safety, Dorothy holding little Toto in her
arms. The travelers then sat in a group on a little hillock just
outside the wall and looked at the great blocks of gray stone and
waited for the Woozy to bring Hank to them. The Mule was very awkward,
and his legs trembled so badly that more than once they thought he
would tumble off, but finally he reached them in safety, and the entire
party was now reunited. More than that, they had reached the city that
had eluded them for so long and in so strange a manner.

“The gates must be around the other side,” said the Wizard. “Let us
follow the curve of the wall until we reach an opening in it.”

“Which way?” asked Dorothy.

“We must guess that,” he replied. “Suppose we go to the left. One
direction is as good as another.” They formed in marching order and
went around the city wall to the left. It wasn’t a big city, as I have
said, but to go way around it outside the high wall was quite a walk,
as they became aware. But around it our adventurers went without
finding any sign of a gateway or other opening. When they had returned
to the little mound from which they had started, they dismounted from
the animals and again seated themselves on the grassy mound.

“It’s mighty queer, isn’t it?” asked Button-Bright.

“There must be SOME way for the people to get out and in,” declared
Dorothy. “Do you s’pose they have flying machines, Wizard?”

“No,” he replied, “for in that case they would be flying all over the
Land of Oz, and we know they have not done that. Flying machines are
unknown here. I think it more likely that the people use ladders to get
over the walls.”

“It would be an awful climb over that high stone wall,” said Betsy.

“Stone, is it?” Scraps, who was again dancing wildly around, for she
never tired and could never keep still for long.

“Course it’s stone,” answered Betsy scornfully. “Can’t you see?”

“Yes,” said Scraps, going closer. “I can SEE the wall, but I can’t FEEL
it.” And then, with her arms outstretched, she did a very queer thing.
She walked right into the wall and disappeared.

“For goodness sake!” Dorothy, amazed, as indeed they all were.



CHAPTER 9
THE HIGH COCO-LORUM OF THI


And now the Patchwork Girl came dancing out of the wall again.

“Come on!” she called. “It isn’t there. There isn’t any wall at all.”

“What? No wall?” exclaimed the Wizard.

“Nothing like it,” said Scraps. “It’s a make-believe. You see it, but
it isn’t. Come on into the city; we’ve been wasting our time.”

With this, she danced into the wall again and once more disappeared.
Button-Bright, who was rather venture-some, dashed away after her and
also became invisible to them. The others followed more cautiously,
stretching out their hands to feel the wall and finding, to their
astonishment, that they could feel nothing because nothing opposed
them. They walked on a few steps and found themselves in the streets of
a very beautiful city. Behind them they again saw the wall, grim and
forbidding as ever, but now they knew it was merely an illusion
prepared to keep strangers from entering the city.

But the wall was soon forgotten, for in front of them were a number of
quaint people who stared at them in amazement as if wondering where
they had come from. Our friends forgot their good manners for a time
and returned the stares with interest, for so remarkable a people had
never before been discovered in all the remarkable Land of Oz.

Their heads were shaped like diamonds, and their bodies like hearts.
All the hair they had was a little bunch at the tip top of their
diamond-shaped heads, and their eyes were very large and round, and
their noses and mouths very small. Their clothing was tight fitting and
of brilliant colors, being handsomely embroidered in quaint designs
with gold or silver threads; but on their feet they wore sandals with
no stockings whatever. The expression of their faces was pleasant
enough, although they now showed surprise at the appearance of
strangers so unlike themselves, and our friends thought they seemed
quite harmless.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Wizard, speaking for his party, “for
intruding upon you uninvited, but we are traveling on important
business and find it necessary to visit your city. Will you kindly tell
us by what name your city is called?”

They looked at one another uncertainly, each expecting some other to
answer. Finally, a short one whose heart-shaped body was very broad
replied, “We have no occasion to call our city anything. It is where we
live, that is all.”

“But by what name do others call your city?” asked the Wizard.

“We know of no others except yourselves,” said the man. And then he
inquired, “Were you born with those queer forms you have, or has some
cruel magician transformed you to them from your natural shapes?”

“These are our natural shapes,” declared the Wizard, “and we consider
them very good shapes, too.”

The group of inhabitants was constantly being enlarged by others who
joined it. All were evidently startled and uneasy at the arrival of
strangers.

“Have you a King?” asked Dorothy, who knew it was better to speak with
someone in authority.

But the man shook his diamond-like head. “What is a King?” he asked.

“Isn’t there anyone who rules over you?” inquired the Wizard.

“No,” was the reply, “each of us rules himself, or at least tries to do
so. It is not an easy thing to do, as you probably know.”

The Wizard reflected.

“If you have disputes among you,” said he after a little thought, “who
settles them?”

“The High Coco-Lorum,” they answered in a chorus.

“And who is he?”

“The judge who enforces the laws,” said the man who had first spoken.

“Then he is the principal person here?” continued the Wizard.

“Well, I would not say that,” returned the man in a puzzled way. “The
High Coco-Lorum is a public servant. However, he represents the laws,
which we must all obey.”

“I think,” said the Wizard, “we ought to see your High Coco-Lorum and
talk with him. Our mission here requires us to consult one high in
authority, and the High Coco-Lorum ought to be high, whatever else he
is.”

The inhabitants seemed to consider this proposition reasonable, for
they nodded their diamond-shaped heads in approval. So the broad one
who had been their spokesman said, “Follow me,” and turning led the way
along one of the streets. The entire party followed him, the natives
falling in behind. The dwellings they passed were quite nicely planned
and seemed comfortable and convenient. After leading them a few blocks,
their conductor stopped before a house which was neither better nor
worse than the others. The doorway was shaped to admit the strangely
formed bodies of these people, being narrow at the top, broad in the
middle and tapering at the bottom. The windows were made in much the
same way, giving the house a most peculiar appearance. When their guide
opened the gate, a music box concealed in the gatepost began to play,
and the sound attracted the attention of the High Coco-Lorum, who
appeared at an open window and inquired, “What has happened now?”

But in the same moment his eyes fell upon the strangers and he hastened
to open the door and admit them—all but the animals, which were left
outside with the throng of natives that had now gathered. For a small
city there seemed to be a large number of inhabitants, but they did not
try to enter the house and contented themselves with staring curiously
at the strange animals. Toto followed Dorothy.

Our friends entered a large room at the front of the house, where the
High Coco-Lorum asked them to be seated. “I hope your mission here is a
peaceful one,” he said, looking a little worried, “for the Thists are
not very good fighters and object to being conquered.”

“Are your people called Thists?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes. I thought you knew that. And we call our city Thi.”

“Oh!”

“We are Thists because we eat thistles, you know,” continued the High
Coco-Lorum.

“Do you really eat those prickly things?” inquired Button-Bright
wonderingly.

“Why not?” replied the other. “The sharp points of the thistles cannot
hurt us, because all our insides are gold-lined.”

“Gold-lined!”

“To be sure. Our throats and stomachs are lined with solid gold, and we
find the thistles nourishing and good to eat. As a matter of fact,
there is nothing else in our country that is fit for food. All around
the City of Thi grow countless thistles, and all we need do is to go
and gather them. If we wanted anything else to eat, we would have to
plant it, and grow it, and harvest it, and that would be a lot of
trouble and make us work, which is an occupation we detest.”

“But tell me, please,” said the Wizard, “how does it happen that your
city jumps around so, from one part of the country to another?”

“The city doesn’t jump. It doesn’t move at all,” declared the High
Coco-Lorum. “However, I will admit that the land that surrounds it has
a trick of turning this way or that, and so if one is standing upon the
plain and facing north, he is likely to find himself suddenly facing
west or east or south. But once you reach the thistle fields, you are
on solid ground.”

“Ah, I begin to understand,” said the Wizard, nodding his head. “But I
have another question to ask: How does it happen that the Thists have
no King to rule over them?”

“Hush!” whispered the High Coco-Lorum, looking uneasily around to make
sure they were not overheard. “In reality, I am the King, but the
people don’t know it. They think they rule themselves, but the fact is
I have everything my own way. No one else knows anything about our
laws, and so I make the laws to suit myself. If any oppose me or
question my acts, I tell them it’s the law and that settles it. If I
called myself King, however, and wore a crown and lived in royal style,
the people would not like me and might do me harm. As the High
Coco-Lorum of Thi, I am considered a very agreeable person.”

“It seems a very clever arrangement,” said the Wizard. “And now, as you
are the principal person in Thi, I beg you to tell us if the Royal Ozma
is a captive in your city.”

“No,” answered the diamond-headed man. “We have no captives. No
strangers but yourselves are here, and we have never before heard of
the Royal Ozma.”

“She rules over all of Oz,” said Dorothy, “and so she rules your city
and you, because you are in the Winkie Country, which is a part of the
Land of Oz.”

“It may be,” returned the High Coco-Lorum, “for we do not study
geography and have never inquired whether we live in the Land of Oz or
not. And any Ruler who rules us from a distance and unknown to us is
welcome to the job. But what has happened to your Royal Ozma?”

“Someone has stolen her,” said the Wizard. “Do you happen to have any
talented magician among your people, one who is especially clever, you
know?”

“No, none especially clever. We do some magic, of course, but it is all
of the ordinary kind. I do not think any of us has yet aspired to
stealing Rulers, either by magic or otherwise.”

“Then we’ve come a long way for nothing!” exclaimed Trot regretfully.

“But we are going farther than this,” asserted the Patchwork Girl,
bending her stuffed body backward until her yarn hair touched the floor
and then walking around on her hands with her feet in the air.

The High Coco-Lorum watched Scraps admiringly.

“You may go farther on, of course,” said he, “but I advise you not to.
The Herkus live back of us, beyond the thistles and the twisting lands,
and they are not very nice people to meet, I assure you.”

“Are they giants?” asked Betsy.

“They are worse than that,” was the reply. “They have giants for their
slaves and they are so much stronger than giants that the poor slaves
dare not rebel for fear of being torn to pieces.”

“How do you know?” asked Scraps.

“Everyone says so,” answered the High Coco-Lorum.

“Have you seen the Herkus yourself?” inquired Dorothy.

“No, but what everyone says must be true, otherwise what would be the
use of their saying it?”

“We were told before we got here that you people hitch dragons to your
chariots,” said the little girl.

“So we do,” declared the High Coco-Lorum. “And that reminds me that I
ought to entertain you as strangers and my guests by taking you for a
ride around our splendid City of Thi.” He touched a button, and a band
began to play. At least, they heard the music of a band, but couldn’t
tell where it came from. “That tune is the order to my charioteer to
bring around my dragon-chariot,” said the High Coco-Lorum. “Every time
I give an order, it is in music, which is a much more pleasant way to
address servants than in cold, stern words.”

“Does this dragon of yours bite?” asked Button-Bright.

“Mercy no! Do you think I’d risk the safety of my innocent people by
using a biting dragon to draw my chariot? I’m proud to say that my
dragon is harmless, unless his steering gear breaks, and he was
manufactured at the famous dragon factory in this City of Thi. Here he
comes, and you may examine him for yourselves.”

They heard a low rumble and a shrill squeaking sound, and going out to
the front of the house, they saw coming around the corner a car drawn
by a gorgeous jeweled dragon, which moved its head to right and left
and flashed its eyes like headlights of an automobile and uttered a
growling noise as it slowly moved toward them. When it stopped before
the High Coco-Lorum’s house, Toto barked sharply at the sprawling
beast, but even tiny Trot could see that the dragon was not alive. Its
scales were of gold, and each one was set with sparkling jewels, while
it walked in such a stiff, regular manner that it could be nothing else
than a machine. The chariot that trailed behind it was likewise of gold
and jewels, and when they entered it, they found there were no seats.
Everyone was supposed to stand up while riding. The charioteer was a
little, diamond-headed fellow who straddled the neck of the dragon and
moved the levers that made it go.

“This,” said the High Coco-Lorum pompously, “is a wonderful invention.
We are all very proud of our auto-dragons, many of which are in use by
our wealthy inhabitants. Start the thing going, charioteer!”

The charioteer did not move.

“You forgot to order him in music,” suggested Dorothy.

“Ah, so I did.”

He touched a button and a music box in the dragon’s head began to play
a tune. At once the little charioteer pulled over a lever, and the
dragon began to move, very slowly and groaning dismally as it drew the
clumsy chariot after it. Toto trotted between the wheels. The Sawhorse,
the Mule, the Lion and the Woozy followed after and had no trouble in
keeping up with the machine. Indeed, they had to go slow to keep from
running into it. When the wheels turned, another music box concealed
somewhere under the chariot played a lively march tune which was in
striking contrast with the dragging movement of the strange vehicle,
and Button-Bright decided that the music he had heard when they first
sighted this city was nothing else than a chariot plodding its weary
way through the streets.

All the travelers from the Emerald City thought this ride the most
uninteresting and dreary they had ever experienced, but the High
Coco-Lorum seemed to think it was grand. He pointed out the different
buildings and parks and fountains in much the same way that the
conductor does on an American “sightseeing wagon” does, and being
guests they were obliged to submit to the ordeal. But they became a
little worried when their host told them he had ordered a banquet
prepared for them in the City Hall.

“What are we going to eat?” asked Button-Bright suspiciously.

“Thistles,” was the reply. “Fine, fresh thistles, gathered this very
day.”

Scraps laughed, for she never ate anything, but Dorothy said in a
protesting voice, “OUR insides are not lined with gold, you know.”

“How sad!” exclaimed the High Coco-Lorum, and then he added as an
afterthought, “but we can have the thistles boiled, if you prefer.”

“I’m ’fraid they wouldn’t taste good even then,” said little Trot.
“Haven’t you anything else to eat?”

The High Coco-Lorum shook his diamond-shaped head.

“Nothing that I know of,” said he. “But why should we have anything
else when we have so many thistles? However, if you can’t eat what we
eat, don’t eat anything. We shall not be offended, and the banquet will
be just as merry and delightful.”

Knowing his companions were all hungry, the Wizard said, “I trust you
will excuse us from the banquet, sir, which will be merry enough
without us, although it is given in our honor. For, as Ozma is not in
your city, we must leave here at once and seek her elsewhere.”

“Sure we must!” Dorothy, and she whispered to Betsy and Trot, “I’d
rather starve somewhere else than in this city, and who knows, we may
run across somebody who eats reg’lar food and will give us some.”

So when the ride was finished, in spite of the protests of the High
Coco-Lorum, they insisted on continuing their journey. “It will soon be
dark,” he objected.

“We don’t mind the darkness,” replied the Wizard.

“Some wandering Herku may get you.”

“Do you think the Herkus would hurt us?” asked Dorothy.

“I cannot say, not having had the honor of their acquaintance. But they
are said to be so strong that if they had any other place to stand upon
they could lift the world.”

“All of them together?” asked Button-Bright wonderingly.

“Any one of them could do it,” said the High Coco-Lorum.

“Have you heard of any magicians being among them?” asked the Wizard,
knowing that only a magician could have stolen Ozma in the way she had
been stolen.

“I am told it is quite a magical country,” declared the High
Coco-Lorum, “and magic is usually performed by magicians. But I have
never heard that they have any invention or sorcery to equal our
wonderful auto-dragons.”

They thanked him for his courtesy, and mounting their own animals rode
to the farther side of the city and right through the Wall of Illusion
out into the open country. “I’m glad we got away so easily,” said
Betsy. “I didn’t like those queer-shaped people.”

“Nor did I,” agreed Dorothy. “It seems dreadful to be lined with sheets
of pure gold and have nothing to eat but thistles.”

“They seemed happy and contented, though,” remarked the Wizard, “and
those who are contented have nothing to regret and nothing more to wish
for.”



CHAPTER 10
TOTO LOSES SOMETHING


For a while the travelers were constantly losing their direction, for
beyond the thistle fields they again found themselves upon the
turning-lands, which swung them around one way and then another. But by
keeping the City of Thi constantly behind them, the adventurers finally
passed the treacherous turning-lands and came upon a stony country
where no grass grew at all. There were plenty of bushes, however, and
although it was now almost dark, the girls discovered some delicious
yellow berries growing upon the bushes, one taste of which set them all
to picking as many as they could find. The berries relieved their pangs
of hunger for a time, and as it now became too dark to see anything,
they camped where they were.

The three girls lay down upon one of the blankets—all in a row—and the
Wizard covered them with the other blanket and tucked them in.
Button-Bright crawled under the shelter of some bushes and was asleep
in half a minute. The Wizard sat down with his back to a big stone and
looked at the stars in the sky and thought gravely upon the dangerous
adventure they had undertaken, wondering if they would ever be able to
find their beloved Ozma again. The animals lay in a group by
themselves, a little distance from the others.

“I’ve lost my growl!” said Toto, who had been very silent and sober all
that day. “What do you suppose has become of it?”

“If you had asked me to keep track of your growl, I might be able to
tell you,” remarked the Lion sleepily. “But frankly, Toto, I supposed
you were taking care of it yourself.”

“It’s an awful thing to lose one’s growl,” said Toto, wagging his tail
disconsolately. “What if you lost your roar, Lion? Wouldn’t you feel
terrible?”

“My roar,” replied the Lion, “is the fiercest thing about me. I depend
on it to frighten my enemies so badly that they won’t dare to fight
me.”

“Once,” said the Mule, “I lost my bray so that I couldn’t call to Betsy
to let her know I was hungry. That was before I could talk, you know,
for I had not yet come into the Land of Oz, and I found it was
certainly very uncomfortable not to be able to make a noise.”

“You make enough noise now,” declared Toto. “But none of you have
answered my question: Where is my growl?”

“You may search ME,” said the Woozy. “I don’t care for such things,
myself.”

“You snore terribly,” asserted Toto.

“It may be,” said the Woozy. “What one does when asleep one is not
accountable for. I wish you would wake me up sometime when I’m snoring
and let me hear the sound. Then I can judge whether it is terrible or
delightful.”

“It isn’t pleasant, I assure you,” said the Lion, yawning.

“To me it seems wholly unnecessary,” declared Hank the Mule.

“You ought to break yourself of the habit,” said the Sawhorse. “You
never hear me snore, because I never sleep. I don’t even whinny as
those puffy meat horses do. I wish that whoever stole Toto’s growl had
taken the Mule’s bray and the Lion’s roar and the Woozy’s snore at the
same time.”

“Do you think, then, that my growl was stolen?”

“You have never lost it before, have you?” inquired inquired the
Sawhorse.

“Only once, when I had a sore throat from barking too long at the
moon.”

“Is your throat sore now?” asked the Woozy.

“No,” replied the dog.

“I can’t understand,” said Hank, “why dogs bark at the moon. They can’t
scare the moon, and the moon doesn’t pay any attention to the bark. So
why do dogs do it?”

“Were you ever a dog?” asked Toto.

“No indeed,” replied Hank. “I am thankful to say I was created a
mule—the most beautiful of all beasts—and have always remained one.”

The Woozy sat upon his square haunches to examine Hank with care.
“Beauty,” he said, “must be a matter of taste. I don’t say your
judgment is bad, friend Hank, or that you are so vulgar as to be
conceited. But if you admire big, waggy ears and a tail like a
paintbrush and hoofs big enough for an elephant and a long neck and a
body so skinny that one can count the ribs with one eye shut—if that’s
your idea of beauty, Hank, then either you or I must be much mistaken.”

“You’re full of edges,” sneered the Mule. “If I were square as you are,
I suppose you’d think me lovely.”

“Outwardly, dear Hank, I would,” replied the Woozy. “But to be really
lovely, one must be beautiful without and within.”

The Mule couldn’t deny this statement, so he gave a disgusted grunt and
rolled over so that his back was toward the Woozy. But the Lion,
regarding the two calmly with his great, yellow eyes, said to the dog,
“My dear Toto, our friends have taught us a lesson in humility. If the
Woozy and the Mule are indeed beautiful creatures as they seem to
think, you and I must be decidedly ugly.”

“Not to ourselves,” protested Toto, who was a shrewd little dog. “You
and I, Lion, are fine specimens of our own races. I am a fine dog, and
you are a fine lion. Only in point of comparison, one with another, can
we be properly judged, so I will leave it to the poor old Sawhorse to
decide which is the most beautiful animal among us all. The Sawhorse is
wood, so he won’t be prejudiced and will speak the truth.”

“I surely will,” responded the Sawhorse, wagging his ears, which were
chips set in his wooden head. “Are you all agreed to accept my
judgment?”

“We are!” they declared, each one hopeful.

“Then,” said the Sawhorse, “I must point out to you the fact that you
are all meat creatures, who tire unless they sleep and starve unless
they eat and suffer from thirst unless they drink. Such animals must be
very imperfect, and imperfect creatures cannot be beautiful. Now, I am
made of wood.”

“You surely have a wooden head,” said the Mule.

“Yes, and a wooden body and wooden legs, which are as swift as the wind
and as tireless. I’ve heard Dorothy say that ‘handsome is as handsome
does,’ and I surely perform my duties in a handsome manner. Therefore,
if you wish my honest judgment, I will confess that among us all I am
the most beautiful.”

The Mule snorted, and the Woozy laughed; Toto had lost his growl and
could only look scornfully at the Sawhorse, who stood in his place
unmoved. But the Lion stretched himself and yawned, saying quietly,
“Were we all like the Sawhorse, we would all be Sawhorses, which would
be too many of the kind. Were we all like Hank, we would be a herd of
mules; if like Toto, we would be a pack of dogs; should we all become
the shape of the Woozy, he would no longer be remarkable for his
unusual appearance. Finally, were you all like me, I would consider you
so common that I would not care to associate with you. To be
individual, my friends, to be different from others, is the only way to
become distinguished from the common herd. Let us be glad, therefore,
that we differ from one another in form and in disposition. Variety is
the spice of life, and we are various enough to enjoy one another’s
society; so let us be content.”

“There is some truth in that speech,” remarked Toto reflectively. “But
how about my lost growl?”

“The growl is of importance only to you,” responded the Lion, “so it is
your business to worry over the loss, not ours. If you love us, do not
afflict your burdens on us; be unhappy all by yourself.”

“If the same person stole my growl who stole Ozma,” said the little
dog, “I hope we shall find him very soon and punish him as he deserves.
He must be the most cruel person in all the world, for to prevent a dog
from growling when it is his nature to growl is just as wicked, in my
opinion, as stealing all the magic in Oz.”



CHAPTER 11
BUTTON-BRIGHT LOSES HIMSELF


The Patchwork Girl, who never slept and who could see very well in the
dark, had wandered among the rocks and bushes all night long, with the
result that she was able to tell some good news the next morning. “Over
the crest of the hill before us,” she said, “is a big grove of trees of
many kinds on which all sorts of fruits grow. If you will go there, you
will find a nice breakfast awaiting you.” This made them eager to
start, so as soon as the blankets were folded and strapped to the back
of the Sawhorse, they all took their places on the animals and set out
for the big grove Scraps had told them of.

As soon as they got over the brow of the hill, they discovered it to be
a really immense orchard, extending for miles to the right and left of
them. As their way led straight through the trees, they hurried forward
as fast as possible. The first trees they came to bore quinces, which
they did not like. Then there were rows of citron trees and then crab
apples and afterward limes and lemons. But beyond these they found a
grove of big, golden oranges, juicy and sweet, and the fruit hung low
on the branches so they could pluck it easily.

They helped themselves freely and all ate oranges as they continued on
their way. Then, a little farther along, they came to some trees
bearing fine, red apples, which they also feasted on, and the Wizard
stopped here long enough to tie a lot of the apples in one end of a
blanket.

“We do not know what will happen to us after we leave this delightful
orchard,” he said, “so I think it wise to carry a supply of apples with
us. We can’t starve as long as we have apples, you know.”

Scraps wasn’t riding the Woozy just now. She loved to climb the trees
and swing herself by the branches from one tree to another. Some of the
choicest fruit was gathered by the Patchwork Girl from the very highest
limbs and tossed down to the others. Suddenly, Trot asked, “Where’s
Button-Bright?” and when the others looked for him, they found the boy
had disappeared.

“Dear me!” cried Dorothy. “I guess he’s lost again, and that will mean
our waiting here until we can find him.”

“It’s a good place to wait,” suggested Betsy, who had found a plum tree
and was eating some of its fruit.

“How can you wait here and find Button-Bright at one and the same
time?” inquired the Patchwork Girl, hanging by her toes on a limb just
over the heads of the three mortal girls.

“Perhaps he’ll come back here,” answered Dorothy.

“If he tries that, he’ll prob’ly lose his way,” said Trot. “I’ve known
him to do that lots of times. It’s losing his way that gets him lost.”

“Very true,” said the Wizard. “So all the rest of you must stay here
while I go look for the boy.”

“Won’t YOU get lost, too?” asked Betsy.

“I hope not, my dear.”

“Let ME go,” said Scraps, dropping lightly to the ground. “I can’t get
lost, and I’m more likely to find Button-Bright than any of you.”
Without waiting for permission, she darted away through the trees and
soon disappeared from their view.

“Dorothy,” said Toto, squatting beside his little mistress, “I’ve lost
my growl.”

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Toto. “Yesterday morning the Woozy nearly
stepped on me, and I tried to growl at him and found I couldn’t growl a
bit.”

“Can you bark?” inquired Dorothy.

“Oh, yes indeed.”

“Then never mind the growl,” said she.

“But what will I do when I get home to the Glass Cat and the Pink
Kitten?” asked the little dog in an anxious tone.

“They won’t mind if you can’t growl at them, I’m sure,” said Dorothy.
“I’m sorry for you, of course, Toto, for it’s just those things we
can’t do that we want to do most of all; but before we get back, you
may find your growl again.”

“Do you think the person who stole Ozma stole my growl?”

Dorothy smiled.

“Perhaps, Toto.”

“Then he’s a scoundrel!” cried the little dog.

“Anyone who would steal Ozma is as bad as bad can be,” agreed Dorothy,
“and when we remember that our dear friend, the lovely Ruler of Oz, is
lost, we ought not to worry over just a growl.”

Toto was not entirely satisfied with this remark, for the more he
thought upon his lost growl, the more important his misfortune became.
When no one was looking, he went away among the trees and tried his
best to growl—even a little bit—but could not manage to do so. All he
could do was bark, and a bark cannot take the place of a growl, so he
sadly returned to the others.

Now Button-Bright had no idea that he was lost at first. He had merely
wandered from tree to tree seeking the finest fruit until he discovered
he was alone in the great orchard. But that didn’t worry him just then,
and seeing some apricot trees farther on, he went to them. Then he
discovered some cherry trees; just beyond these were some tangerines.
“We’ve found ’most ev’ry kind of fruit but peaches,” he said to
himself, “so I guess there are peaches here, too, if I can find the
trees.”

He searched here and there, paying no attention to his way, until he
found that the trees surrounding him bore only nuts. He put some
walnuts in his pockets and kept on searching, and at last—right among
the nut trees—he came upon one solitary peach tree. It was a graceful,
beautiful tree, but although it was thickly leaved, it bore no fruit
except one large, splendid peach, rosy-cheeked and fuzzy and just right
to eat.

Button-Bright had some trouble getting that lonesome peach, for it hung
far out of reach; but he climbed the tree nimbly and crept out on the
branch on which it grew and after several trials, during which he was
in danger of falling, he finally managed to pick it. Then he got back
to the ground and decided the fruit was well worth his trouble. It was
delightfully fragrant and when he bit into it he found it the most
delicious morsel he had ever tasted.

“I really ought to divide it with Trot and Dorothy and Betsy,” he said;
“but p’rhaps there are plenty more in some other part of the orchard.”

In his heart he doubted this statement, for this was a solitary peach
tree, while all the other fruits grew upon many trees set close to one
another; but that one luscious bite made him unable to resist eating
the rest of it, and soon the peach was all gone except the pit.
Button-Bright was about to throw this peach pit away when he noticed
that it was of pure gold. Of course, this surprised him, but so many
things in the Land of Oz were surprising that he did not give much
thought to the golden peach pit. He put it in his pocket, however, to
show to the girls, and five minutes afterward had forgotten all about
it.

For now he realized that he was far separated from his companions, and
knowing that this would worry them and delay their journey, he began to
shout as loud as he could. His voice did not penetrate very far among
all those trees, and after shouting a dozen times and getting no
answer, he sat down on the ground and said, “Well, I’m lost again. It’s
too bad, but I don’t see how it can be helped.”

As he leaned his back against a tree, he looked up and saw a Bluefinch
fly down from the sky and alight upon a branch just before him. The
bird looked and looked at him. First it looked with one bright eye and
then turned its head and looked at him with the other eye. Then,
fluttering its wings a little, it said, “Oho! So you’ve eaten the
enchanted peach, have you?”

“Was it enchanted?” asked Button-Bright.

“Of course,” replied the Bluefinch. “Ugu the Shoemaker did that.”

“But why? And how was it enchanted? And what will happen to one who
eats it?” questioned the boy.

“Ask Ugu the Shoemaker. He knows,” said the bird, preening its feathers
with its bill.

“And who is Ugu the Shoemaker?”

“The one who enchanted the peach and placed it here—in the exact center
of the Great Orchard—so no one would ever find it. We birds didn’t dare
to eat it; we are too wise for that. But you are Button-Bright from the
Emerald City, and you, YOU, YOU ate the enchanted peach! You must
explain to Ugu the Shoemaker why you did that.”

And then, before the boy could ask any more questions, the bird flew
away and left him alone.

Button-Bright was not much worried to find that the peach he had eaten
was enchanted. It certainly had tasted very good, and his stomach
didn’t ache a bit. So again he began to reflect upon the best way to
rejoin his friends. “Whichever direction I follow is likely to be the
wrong one,” he said to himself, “so I’d better stay just where I am and
let THEM find ME—if they can.”

A White Rabbit came hopping through the orchard and paused a little way
off to look at him. “Don’t be afraid,” said Button-Bright. “I won’t
hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid for myself,” returned the White Rabbit. “It’s you
I’m worried about.”

“Yes, I’m lost,” said the boy.

“I fear you are, indeed,” answered the Rabbit. “Why on earth did you
eat the enchanted peach?”

The boy looked at the excited little animal thoughtfully. “There were
two reasons,” he explained. “One reason was that I like peaches, and
the other reason was that I didn’t know it was enchanted.”

“That won’t save you from Ugu the Shoemaker,” declared the White
Rabbit, and it scurried away before the boy could ask any more
questions.

“Rabbits and birds,” he thought, “are timid creatures and seem afraid
of this shoemaker, whoever he may be. If there was another peach half
as good as that other, I’d eat it in spite of a dozen enchantments or a
hundred shoemakers!”

Just then, Scraps came dancing along and saw him sitting at the foot of
the tree. “Oh, here you are!” she said. “Up to your old tricks, eh?
Don’t you know it’s impolite to get lost and keep everybody waiting for
you? Come along, and I’ll lead you back to Dorothy and the others.”

Button-Bright rose slowly to accompany her.

“That wasn’t much of a loss,” he said cheerfully. “I haven’t been gone
half a day, so there’s no harm done.”

Dorothy, however, when the boy rejoined the party, gave him a good
scolding. “When we’re doing such an important thing as searching for
Ozma,” said she, “it’s naughty for you to wander away and keep us from
getting on. S’pose she’s a pris’ner in a dungeon cell! Do you want to
keep our dear Ozma there any longer than we can help?”

“If she’s in a dungeon cell, how are you going to get her out?”
inquired the boy.

“Never you mind. We’ll leave that to the Wizard. He’s sure to find a
way.”

The Wizard said nothing, for he realized that without his magic tools
he could do no more than any other person. But there was no use
reminding his companions of that fact; it might discourage them. “The
important thing just now,” he remarked, “is to find Ozma, and as our
party is again happily reunited, I propose we move on.”

As they came to the edge of the Great Orchard, the sun was setting and
they knew it would soon be dark. So it was decided to camp under the
trees, as another broad plain was before them. The Wizard spread the
blankets on a bed of soft leaves, and presently all of them except
Scraps and the Sawhorse were fast asleep. Toto snuggled close to his
friend the Lion, and the Woozy snored so loudly that the Patchwork Girl
covered his square head with her apron to deaden the sound.



CHAPTER 12
THE CZAROVER OF HERKU


Trot wakened just as the sun rose, and slipping out of the blankets,
went to the edge of the Great Orchard and looked across the plain.
Something glittered in the far distance. “That looks like another
city,” she said half aloud.

“And another city it is,” declared Scraps, who had crept to Trot’s side
unheard, for her stuffed feet made no sound. “The Sawhorse and I made a
journey in the dark while you were all asleep, and we found over there
a bigger city than Thi. There’s a wall around it, too, but it has gates
and plenty of pathways.”

“Did you get in?” asked Trot.

“No, for the gates were locked and the wall was a real wall. So we came
back here again. It isn’t far to the city. We can reach it in two hours
after you’ve had your breakfasts.”

Trot went back, and finding the other girls now awake, told them what
Scraps had said. So they hurriedly ate some fruit—there were plenty of
plums and fijoas in this part of the orchard—and then they mounted the
animals and set out upon the journey to the strange city. Hank the Mule
had breakfasted on grass, and the Lion had stolen away and found a
breakfast to his liking; he never told what it was, but Dorothy hoped
the little rabbits and the field mice had kept out of his way. She
warned Toto not to chase birds and gave the dog some apple, with which
he was quite content. The Woozy was as fond of fruit as of any other
food except honey, and the Sawhorse never ate at all.

Except for their worry over Ozma, they were all in good spirits as they
proceeded swiftly over the plain. Toto still worried over his lost
growl, but like a wise little dog kept his worry to himself. Before
long, the city grew nearer and they could examine it with interest.

In outward appearance the place was more imposing than Thi, and it was
a square city, with a square, four-sided wall around it, and on each
side was a square gate of burnished copper. Everything about the city
looked solid and substantial; there were no banners flying, and the
towers that rose above the city wall seemed bare of any ornament
whatever.

A path led from the fruit orchard directly to one of the city gates,
showing that the inhabitants preferred fruit to thistles. Our friends
followed this path to the gate, which they found fast shut. But the
Wizard advanced and pounded upon it with his fist, saying in a loud
voice, “Open!”

At once there rose above the great wall a row of immense heads, all of
which looked down at them as if to see who was intruding. The size of
these heads was astonishing, and our friends at once realized that they
belonged to giants who were standing within the city. All had thick,
bushy hair and whiskers, on some the hair being white and on others
black or red or yellow, while the hair of a few was just turning gray,
showing that the giants were of all ages. However fierce the heads
might seem, the eyes were mild in expression, as if the creatures had
been long subdued, and their faces expressed patience rather than
ferocity.

“What’s wanted?” asked one old giant in a low, grumbling voice.

“We are strangers, and we wish to enter the city,” replied the Wizard.

“Do you come in war or peace?” asked another.

“In peace, of course,” retorted the Wizard, and he added impatiently,
“Do we look like an army of conquest?”

“No,” said the first giant who had spoken, “you look like innocent
tramps; but you never can tell by appearances. Wait here until we
report to our masters. No one can enter here without the permission of
Vig, the Czarover.”

“Who’s that?” inquired Dorothy.

But the heads had all bobbed down and disappeared behind the walls, so
there was no answer. They waited a long time before the gate rolled
back with a rumbling sound, and a loud voice cried, “Enter!” But they
lost no time in taking advantage of the invitation.

On either side of the broad street that led into the city from the gate
stood a row of huge giants, twenty of them on a side and all standing
so close together that their elbows touched. They wore uniforms of blue
and yellow and were armed with clubs as big around as treetrunks. Each
giant had around his neck a broad band of gold, riveted on, to show he
was a slave.

As our friends entered riding upon the Lion, the Woozy, the Sawhorse
and the Mule, the giants half turned and walked in two files on either
side of them, as if escorting them on their way. It looked to Dorothy
as if all her party had been made prisoners, for even mounted on their
animals their heads scarcely reached to the knees of the marching
giants. The girls and Button-Bright were anxious to know what sort of a
city they had entered, and what the people were like who had made these
powerful creatures their slaves. Through the legs of the giants as they
walked, Dorothy could see rows of houses on each side of the street and
throngs of people standing on the sidewalks, but the people were of
ordinary size and the only remarkable thing about them was the fact
that they were dreadfully lean and thin. Between their skin and their
bones there seemed to be little or no flesh, and they were mostly
stoop-shouldered and weary looking, even to the little children.

More and more, Dorothy wondered how and why the great giants had ever
submitted to become slaves of such skinny, languid masters, but there
was no chance to question anyone until they arrived at a big palace
located in the heart of the city. Here the giants formed lines to the
entrance and stood still while our friends rode into the courtyard of
the palace. Then the gates closed behind them, and before them was a
skinny little man who bowed low and said in a sad voice, “If you will
be so obliging as to dismount, it will give me pleasure to lead you
into the presence of the World’s Most Mighty Ruler, Vig the Czarover.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Dorothy indignantly.

“What don’t you believe?” asked the man.

“I don’t believe your Czarover can hold a candle to our Ozma.”

“He wouldn’t hold a candle under any circumstances, or to any living
person,” replied the man very seriously, “for he has slaves to do such
things and the Mighty Vig is too dignified to do anything that others
can do for him. He even obliges a slave to sneeze for him, if ever he
catches cold. However, if you dare to face our powerful ruler, follow
me.”

“We dare anything,” said the Wizard, “so go ahead.”

Through several marble corridors having lofty ceilings they passed,
finding each corridor and doorway guarded by servants. But these
servants of the palace were of the people and not giants, and they were
so thin that they almost resembled skeletons. Finally, they entered a
great circular room with a high, domed ceiling, where the Czarover sat
on a throne cut from a solid block of white marble and decorated with
purple silk hangings and gold tassels.

The ruler of these people was combing his eyebrows when our friends
entered the throne room and stood before him, but he put the comb in
his pocket and examined the strangers with evident curiosity. Then he
said, “Dear me, what a surprise! You have really shocked me. For no
outsider has ever before come to our City of Herku, and I cannot
imagine why you have ventured to do so.”

“We are looking for Ozma, the Supreme Ruler of the Land of Oz,” replied
the Wizard.

“Do you see her anywhere around here?” asked the Czarover.

“Not yet, Your Majesty, but perhaps you may tell us where she is.”

“No, I have my hands full keeping track of my own people. I find them
hard to manage because they are so tremendously strong.”

“They don’t look very strong,” said Dorothy. “It seems as if a good
wind would blow ’em way out of the city if it wasn’t for the wall.”

“Just so, just so,” admitted the Czarover. “They really look that way,
don’t they? But you must never trust to appearances, which have a way
of fooling one. Perhaps you noticed that I prevented you from meeting
any of my people. I protected you with my giants while you were on the
way from the gates to my palace so that not a Herku got near you.”

“Are your people so dangerous, then?” asked the Wizard.

“To strangers, yes. But only because they are so friendly. For if they
shake hands with you, they are likely to break your arms or crush your
fingers to a jelly.”

“Why?” asked Button-Bright.

“Because we are the strongest people in all the world.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the boy. “That’s bragging. You prob’ly don’t know
how strong other people are. Why, once I knew a man in Philadelphi’ who
could bend iron bars with just his hands!”

“But mercy me, it’s no trick to bend iron bars,” said His Majesty.
“Tell me, could this man crush a block of stone with his bare hands?”

“No one could do that,” declared the boy.

“If I had a block of stone, I’d show you,” said the Czarover, looking
around the room. “Ah, here is my throne. The back is too high, anyhow,
so I’ll just break off a piece of that.” He rose to his feet and
tottered in an uncertain way around the throne. Then he took hold of
the back and broke off a piece of marble over a foot thick. “This,”
said he, coming back to his seat, “is very solid marble and much harder
than ordinary stone. Yet I can crumble it easily with my fingers, a
proof that I am very strong.”

Even as he spoke, he began breaking off chunks of marble and crumbling
them as one would a bit of earth. The Wizard was so astonished that he
took a piece in his own hands and tested it, finding it very hard
indeed.

Just then one of the giant servants entered and exclaimed, “Oh, Your
Majesty, the cook has burned the soup! What shall we do?”

“How dare you interrupt me?” asked the Czarover, and grasping the
immense giant by one of his legs, he raised him in the air and threw
him headfirst out of an open window. “Now, tell me,” he said, turning
to Button-Bright, “could your man in Philadelphia crumble marble in his
fingers?”

“I guess not,” said Button-Bright, much impressed by the skinny
monarch’s strength.

“What makes you so strong?” inquired Dorothy.

“It’s the zosozo,” he explained, “which is an invention of my own. I
and all my people eat zosozo, and it gives us tremendous strength.
Would you like to eat some?”

“No thank you,” replied the girl. “I—I don’t want to get so thin.”

“Well, of course one can’t have strength and flesh at the same time,”
said the Czarover. “Zosozo is pure energy, and it’s the only compound
of its sort in existence. I never allow our giants to have it, you
know, or they would soon become our masters, since they are bigger that
we; so I keep all the stuff locked up in my private laboratory. Once a
year I feed a teaspoonful of it to each of my people—men, women and
children—so every one of them is nearly as strong as I am. Wouldn’t YOU
like a dose, sir?” he asked, turning to the Wizard.

“Well,” said the Wizard, “if you would give me a little zosozo in a
bottle, I’d like to take it with me on my travels. It might come in
handy on occasion.”

“To be sure. I’ll give you enough for six doses,” promised the
Czarover.

“But don’t take more than a teaspoonful at a time. Once Ugu the
Shoemaker took two teaspoonsful, and it made him so strong that when he
leaned against the city wall, he pushed it over, and we had to build it
up again.”

“Who is Ugu the Shoemaker?”

Button-Bright curiously, for he now remembered that the bird and the
rabbit had claimed Ugu the Shoemaker had enchanted the peach he had
eaten.

“Why, Ugu is a great magician who used to live here. But he’s gone away
now,” replied the Czarover.

“Where has he gone?” asked the Wizard quickly.

“I am told he lives in a wickerwork castle in the mountains to the west
of here. You see, Ugu became such a powerful magician that he didn’t
care to live in our city any longer for fear we would discover some of
his secrets. So he went to the mountains and built him a splendid
wicker castle which is so strong that even I and my people could not
batter it down, and there he lives all by himself.”

“This is good news,” declared the Wizard, “for I think this is just the
magician we are searching for. But why is he called Ugu the Shoemaker?”

“Once he was a very common citizen here and made shoes for a living,”
replied the monarch of Herku. “But he was descended from the greatest
wizard and sorcerer who ever lived in this or in any other country, and
one day Ugu the Shoemaker discovered all the magical books and recipes
of his famous great-grandfather, which had been hidden away in the
attic of his house. So he began to study the papers and books and to
practice magic, and in time he became so skillful that, as I said, he
scorned our city and built a solitary castle for himself.”

“Do you think,” asked Dorothy anxiously, “that Ugu the Shoemaker would
be wicked enough to steal our Ozma of Oz?”

“And the Magic Picture?” asked Trot.

“And the Great Book of Records of Glinda the Good?” asked Betsy.

“And my own magic tools?” asked the Wizard.

“Well,” replied the Czarover, “I won’t say that Ugu is wicked, exactly,
but he is very ambitious to become the most powerful magician in the
world, and so I suppose he would not be too proud to steal any magic
things that belonged to anybody else—if he could manage to do so.”

“But how about Ozma? Why would he wish to steal HER?” questioned
Dorothy.

“Don’t ask me, my dear. Ugu doesn’t tell me why he does things, I
assure you.”

“Then we must go and ask him ourselves,” declared the little girl.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” advised the Czarover, looking first
at the three girls and then at the boy and the little Wizard and
finally at the stuffed Patchwork Girl. “If Ugu has really stolen your
Ozma, he will probably keep her a prisoner, in spite of all your
threats or entreaties. And with all his magical knowledge he would be a
dangerous person to attack. Therefore, if you are wise, you will go
home again and find a new Ruler for the Emerald City and the Land of
Oz. But perhaps it isn’t Ugu the Shoemaker who has stolen your Ozma.”

“The only way to settle that question,” replied the Wizard, “is to go
to Ugu’s castle and see if Ozma is there. If she is, we will report the
matter to the great Sorceress Glinda the Good, and I’m pretty sure she
will find a way to rescue our darling ruler from the Shoemaker.”

“Well, do as you please,” said the Czarover, “but if you are all
transformed into hummingbirds or caterpillars, don’t blame me for not
warning you.”

They stayed the rest of that day in the City of Herku and were fed at
the royal table of the Czarover and given sleeping rooms in his palace.
The strong monarch treated them very nicely and gave the Wizard a
little golden vial of zosozo to use if ever he or any of his party
wished to acquire great strength.

Even at the last, the Czarover tried to persuade them not to go near
Ugu the Shoemaker, but they were resolved on the venture, and the next
morning bade the friendly monarch a cordial goodbye and, mounting upon
their animals, left the Herkus and the City of Herku and headed for the
mountains that lay to the west.



CHAPTER 13
THE TRUTH POND


It seems a long time since we have heard anything of the Frogman and
Cayke the Cookie Cook, who had left the Yip Country in search of the
diamond-studded dishpan which had been mysteriously stolen the same
night that Ozma had disappeared from the Emerald City. But you must
remember that while the Frogman and the Cookie Cook were preparing to
descend from their mountaintop, and even while on their way to the
farmhouse of Wiljon the Winkie, Dorothy and the Wizard and their
friends were encountering the adventures we have just related.

So it was that on the very morning when the travelers from the Emerald
City bade farewell to the Czarover of the City of Herku, Cayke and the
Frogman awoke in a grove in which they had passed the night sleeping on
beds of leaves. There were plenty of farmhouses in the neighborhood,
but no one seemed to welcome the puffy, haughty Frogman or the little
dried-up Cookie Cook, and so they slept comfortably enough underneath
the trees of the grove. The Frogman wakened first on this morning, and
after going to the tree where Cayke slept and finding her still wrapped
in slumber, he decided to take a little walk and seek some breakfast.
Coming to the edge of the grove, he observed half a mile away a pretty
yellow house that was surrounded by a yellow picket fence, so he walked
toward this house and on entering the yard found a Winkie woman picking
up sticks with which to build a fire to cook her morning meal.

“For goodness sake!” she exclaimed on seeing the Frogman. “What are you
doing out of your frog-pond?”

“I am traveling in search of a jeweled gold dishpan, my good woman,” he
replied with an air of great dignity.

“You won’t find it here, then,” said she. “Our dishpans are tin, and
they’re good enough for anybody. So go back to your pond and leave me
alone.” She spoke rather crossly and with a lack of respect that
greatly annoyed the Frogman.

“Allow me to tell you, madam,” said he, “that although I am a frog, I
am the Greatest and Wisest Frog in all the world. I may add that I
possess much more wisdom than any Winkie—man or woman—in this land.
Wherever I go, people fall on their knees before me and render homage
to the Great Frogman! No one else knows so much as I; no one else is so
grand, so magnificent!”

“If you know so much,” she retorted, “why don’t you know where your
dishpan is instead of chasing around the country after it?”

“Presently,” he answered, “I am going where it is, but just now I am
traveling and have had no breakfast. Therefore I honor you by asking
you for something to eat.”

“Oho! The Great Frogman is hungry as any tramp, is he? Then pick up
these sticks and help me to build the fire,” said the woman
contemptuously.

“Me! The Great Frogman pick up sticks?” he exclaimed in horror. “In the
Yip Country where I am more honored and powerful than any King could
be, people weep with joy when I ask them to feed me.”

“Then that’s the place to go for your breakfast,” declared the woman.

“I fear you do not realize my importance,” urged the Frogman.
“Exceeding wisdom renders me superior to menial duties.”

“It’s a great wonder to me,” remarked the woman, carrying her sticks to
the house, “that your wisdom doesn’t inform you that you’ll get no
breakfast here.” And she went in and slammed the door behind her.

The Frogman felt he had been insulted, so he gave a loud croak of
indignation and turned away. After going a short distance, he came upon
a faint path which led across a meadow in the direction of a grove of
pretty trees, and thinking this circle of evergreens must surround a
house where perhaps he would be kindly received, he decided to follow
the path. And by and by he came to the trees, which were set close
together, and pushing aside some branches he found no house inside the
circle, but instead a very beautiful pond of clear water.

Now the Frogman, although he was so big and well educated and now aped
the ways and customs of human beings, was still a frog. As he gazed at
this solitary, deserted pond, his love for water returned to him with
irresistible force. “If I cannot get a breakfast, I may at least have a
fine swim,” said he, and pushing his way between the trees, he reached
the bank. There he took off his fine clothing, laying his shiny purple
hat and his gold-headed cane beside it. A moment later, he sprang with
one leap into the water and dived to the very bottom of the pond.

The water was deliciously cool and grateful to his thick, rough skin,
and the Frogman swam around the pond several times before he stopped to
rest. Then he floated upon the surface and examined the pond. The
bottom and sides were all lined with glossy tiles of a light pink
color; just one place in the bottom where the water bubbled up from a
hidden spring had been left free. On the banks, the green grass grew to
the edge of the pink tiling. And now, as the Frogman examined the
place, he found that on one side of the pool, just above the water
line, had been set a golden plate on which some words were deeply
engraved. He swam toward this plate, and on reaching it read the
following inscription:

_This is_
THE TRUTH POND
_Whoever bathes in this
water must always
afterward tell_
THE TRUTH.

This statement startled the Frogman. It even worried him, so that he
leaped upon the bank and hurriedly began to dress himself. “A great
misfortune has befallen me,” he told himself, “for hereafter I cannot
tell people I am wise, since it is not the truth. The truth is that my
boasted wisdom is all a sham, assumed by me to deceive people and make
them defer to me. In truth, no living creature can know much more than
his fellows, for one may know one thing, and another know another
thing, so that wisdom is evenly scattered throughout the world. But—ah
me!—what a terrible fate will now be mine. Even Cayke the Cookie Cook
will soon discover that my knowledge is no greater than her own, for
having bathed in the enchanted water of the Truth Pond, I can no longer
deceive her or tell a lie.”

More humbled than he had been for many years, the Frogman went back to
the grove where he had left Cayke and found the woman now awake and
washing her face in a tiny brook. “Where has Your Honor been?” she
asked.

“To a farmhouse to ask for something to eat,” said he, “but the woman
refused me.”

“How dreadful!” she exclaimed. “But never mind, there are other houses
where the people will be glad to feed the Wisest Creature in all the
World.”

“Do you mean yourself?” he asked.

“No, I mean you.”

The Frogman felt strongly impelled to tell the truth, but struggled
hard against it. His reason told him there was no use in letting Cayke
know he was not wise, for then she would lose much respect for him, but
each time he opened his mouth to speak, he realized he was about to
tell the truth and shut it again as quickly as possible. He tried to
talk about something else, but the words necessary to undeceive the
woman would force themselves to his lips in spite of all his struggles.
Finally, knowing that he must either remain dumb or let the truth
prevail, he gave a low groan of despair and said, “Cayke, I am NOT the
Wisest Creature in all the World; I am not wise at all.”

“Oh, you must be!” she protested. “You told me so yourself, only last
evening.”

“Then last evening I failed to tell you the truth,” he admitted,
looking very shamefaced for a frog. “I am sorry I told you this lie, my
good Cayke, but if you must know the truth, the whole truth and nothing
but the truth, I am not really as wise as you are.”

The Cookie Cook was greatly shocked to hear this, for it shattered one
of her most pleasing illusions. She looked at the gorgeously dressed
Frogman in amazement. “What has caused you to change your mind so
suddenly?” she inquired.

“I have bathed in the Truth Pond,” he said, “and whoever bathes in that
water is ever afterward obliged to tell the truth.”

“You were foolish to do that,” declared the woman.

“It is often very embarrassing to tell the truth. I’m glad I didn’t
bathe in that dreadful water!”

The Frogman looked at his companion thoughtfully. “Cayke,” said he, “I
want you to go to the Truth Pond and take a bath in its water. For if
we are to travel together and encounter unknown adventures, it would
not be fair that I alone must always tell you the truth, while you
could tell me whatever you pleased. If we both dip in the enchanted
water, there will be no chance in the future of our deceiving one
another.”

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head positively, “I won’t do it, Your
Honor. For if I told you the truth, I’m sure you wouldn’t like me. No
Truth Pond for me. I’ll be just as I am, an honest woman who can say
what she wants to without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

With this decision the Frogman was forced to be content, although he
was sorry the Cookie Cook would not listen to his advice.



CHAPTER 14
THE UNHAPPY FERRYMAN


Leaving the grove where they had slept, the Frogman and the Cookie Cook
turned to the east to seek another house, and after a short walk came
to one where the people received them very politely. The children
stared rather hard at the big, pompous Frogman, but the woman of the
house, when Cayke asked for something to eat, at once brought them food
and said they were welcome to it. “Few people in need of help pass this
way,” she remarked, “for the Winkies are all prosperous and love to
stay in their own homes. But perhaps you are not a Winkie,” she added.

“No,” said Cayke, “I am a Yip, and my home is on a high mountain at the
southeast of your country.”

“And the Frogman, is he also a Yip?”

“I do not know what he is, other than a very remarkable and highly
educated creature,” replied the Cookie Cook. “But he has lived many
years among the Yips, who have found him so wise and intelligent that
they always go to him for advice.”

“May I ask why you have left your home and where you are going?” said
the Winkie woman.

Then Cayke told her of the diamond-studded gold dishpan and how it had
been mysteriously stolen from her house, after which she had discovered
that she could no longer cook good cookies. So she had resolved to
search until she found her dishpan again, because a Cookie cook who
cannot cook good cookies is not of much use. The Frogman, who had
wanted to see more of the world, had accompanied her to assist in the
search. When the woman had listened to this story, she asked, “Then you
have no idea as yet who has stolen your dishpan?”

“I only know it must have been some mischievous fairy, or a magician,
or some such powerful person, because none other could have climbed the
steep mountain to the Yip Country. And who else could have carried away
my beautiful magic dishpan without being seen?”

The woman thought about this during the time that Cayke and the Frogman
ate their breakfast. When they had finished, she said, “Where are you
going next?”

“We have not decided,” answered the Cookie cook.

“Our plan,” explained the Frogman in his important way, “is to travel
from place to place until we learn where the thief is located and then
to force him to return the dishpan to its proper owner.”

“The plan is all right,” agreed the woman, “but it may take you a long
time before you succeed, your method being sort of haphazard and
indefinite. However, I advise you to travel toward the east.”

“Why?” asked the Frogman.

“Because if you went west, you would soon come to the desert, and also
because in this part of the Winkie Country no one steals, so your time
here would be wasted. But toward the east, beyond the river, live many
strange people whose honesty I would not vouch for. Moreover, if you
journey far enough east and cross the river for a second time, you will
come to the Emerald City, where there is much magic and sorcery. The
Emerald City is ruled by a dear little girl called Ozma, who also rules
the Emperor of the Winkies and all the Land of Oz. So, as Ozma is a
fairy, she may be able to tell you just who has taken your precious
dishpan. Provided, of course, you do not find it before you reach her.”

“This seems to be to be excellent advice,” said the Frogman, and Cayke
agreed with him.

“The most sensible thing for you to do,” continued the woman, “would be
to return to your home and use another dishpan, learn to cook cookies
as other people cook cookies, without the aid of magic. But if you
cannot be happy without the magic dishpan you have lost, you are likely
to learn more about it in the Emerald City than at any other place in
Oz.”

They thanked the good woman, and on leaving her house faced the east
and continued in that direction all the way. Toward evening they came
to the west branch of the Winkie River and there, on the riverbank,
found a ferryman who lived all alone in a little yellow house. This
ferryman was a Winkie with a very small head and a very large body. He
was sitting in his doorway as the travelers approached him and did not
even turn his head to look at them.

“Good evening,” said the Frogman.

The ferryman made no reply.

“We would like some supper and the privilege of sleeping in your house
until morning,” continued the Frogman. “At daybreak, we would like some
breakfast, and then we would like to have you row us across the river.”

The ferryman neither moved nor spoke. He sat in his doorway and looked
straight ahead. “I think he must be deaf and dumb,” Cayke whispered to
her companion. Then she stood directly in front of the ferryman, and
putting her mouth close to his ear, she yelled as loudly as she could,
“Good evening!”

The ferryman scowled.

“Why do you yell at me, woman?” he asked.

“Can you hear what I say?” asked in her ordinary tone of voice.

“Of course,” replied the man.

“Then why didn’t you answer the Frogman?”

“Because,” said the ferryman, “I don’t understand the frog language.”

“He speaks the same words that I do and in the same way,” declared
Cayke.

“Perhaps,” replied the ferryman, “but to me his voice sounded like a
frog’s croak. I know that in the Land of Oz animals can speak our
language, and so can the birds and bugs and fishes; but in MY ears,
they sound merely like growls and chirps and croaks.”

“Why is that?” asked the Cookie Cook in surprise.

“Once, many years ago, I cut the tail off a fox which had taunted me,
and I stole some birds’ eggs from a nest to make an omelet with, and
also I pulled a fish from the river and left it lying on the bank to
gasp for lack of water until it died. I don’t know why I did those
wicked things, but I did them. So the Emperor of the Winkies—who is the
Tin Woodman and has a very tender tin heart—punished me by denying me
any communication with beasts, birds or fishes. I cannot understand
them when they speak to me, although I know that other people can do
so, nor can the creatures understand a word I say to them. Every time I
meet one of them, I am reminded of my former cruelty, and it makes me
very unhappy.”

“Really,” said Cayke, “I’m sorry for you, although the Tin Woodman is
not to blame for punishing you.”

“What is he mumbling about?” asked the Frogman.

“He is talking to me, but you don’t understand him,” she replied. And
then she told him of the ferryman’s punishment and afterward explained
to the ferryman that they wanted to stay all night with him and be fed.

He gave them some fruit and bread, which was the only sort of food he
had, and he allowed Cayke to sleep in a room of his cottage. But the
Frogman he refused to admit to his house, saying that the frog’s
presence made him miserable and unhappy. At no time would he look
directly at the Frogman, or even toward him, fearing he would shed
tears if he did so; so the big frog slept on the riverbank where he
could hear little frogs croaking in the river all the night through.
But that did not keep him awake; it merely soothed him to slumber, for
he realized how much superior he was to them.

Just as the sun was rising on a new day, the ferryman rowed the two
travelers across the river—keeping his back to the Frogman all the
way—and then Cayke thanked him and bade him goodbye and the ferryman
rowed home again.

On this side of the river, there were no paths at all, so it was
evident they had reached a part of the country little frequented by
travelers. There was a marsh at the south of them, sandhills at the
north, and a growth of scrubby underbrush leading toward a forest at
the east. So the east was really the least difficult way to go, and
that direction was the one they had determined to follow.

Now the Frogman, although he wore green patent-leather shoes with ruby
buttons, had very large and flat feet, and when he tramped through the
scrub, his weight crushed down the underbrush and made a path for Cayke
to follow him. Therefore they soon reached the forest, where the tall
trees were set far apart but were so leafy that they shaded all the
spaces between them with their branches. “There are no bushes here,”
said Cayke, much pleased, “so we can now travel faster and with more
comfort.”



CHAPTER 15
THE BIG LAVENDER BEAR


It was a pleasant place to wander, and the two travelers were
proceeding at a brisk pace when suddenly a voice shouted, “Halt!”

They looked around in surprise, seeing at first no one at all. Then
from behind a tree there stepped a brown, fuzzy bear whose head came
about as high as Cayke’s waist—and Cayke was a small woman. The bear
was chubby as well as fuzzy; his body was even puffy, while his legs
and arms seemed jointed at the knees and elbows and fastened to his
body by pins or rivets. His ears were round in shape and stuck out in a
comical way, while his round, black eyes were bright and sparkling as
beads. Over his shoulder the little brown bear bore a gun with a tin
barrel. The barrel had a cork in the end of it, and a string was
attached to the cork and to the handle of the gun. Both the Frogman and
Cayke gazed hard at this curious bear, standing silent for some time.
But finally the Frogman recovered from his surprise and remarked, “It
seems to me that you are stuffed with sawdust and ought not to be
alive.”

“That’s all you know about it,” answered the little Brown Bear in a
squeaky voice. “I am stuffed with a very good quality of curled hair,
and my skin is the best plush that was ever made. As for my being
alive, that is my own affair and cannot concern you at all, except that
it gives me the privilege to say you are my prisoners.”

“Prisoners! Why do you speak such nonsense?” the Frogman angrily. “Do
you think we are afraid of a toy bear with a toy gun?”

“You ought to be,” was the confident reply, “for I am merely the sentry
guarding the way to Bear Center, which is a city containing hundreds of
my race, who are ruled by a very powerful sorcerer known as the
Lavender Bear. He ought to be a purple color, you know, seeing he is a
King, but he’s only light lavender, which is, of course, second cousin
to royal purple. So unless you come with me peaceably as my prisoners,
I shall fire my gun and bring a hundred bears of all sizes and colors
to capture you.”

“Why do you wish to capture us?” inquired the Frogman, who had listened
to his speech with much astonishment.

“I don’t wish to, as a matter of fact,” replied the little Brown Bear,
“but it is my duty to, because you are now trespassing on the domain of
His Majesty, the King of Bear Center. Also, I will admit that things
are rather quiet in our city just now, and the excitement of your
capture, followed by your trial and execution, should afford us much
entertainment.”

“We defy you!” said the Frogman.

“Oh no, don’t do that,” pleaded Cayke, speaking to her companion. “He
says his King is a sorcerer, so perhaps it is he or one of his bears
who ventured to steal my jeweled dishpan. Let us go to the City of the
Bears and discover if my dishpan is there.”

“I must now register one more charge against you,” remarked the little
Brown Bear with evident satisfaction. “You have just accused us of
stealing, and that is such a dreadful thing to say that I am quite sure
our noble King will command you to be executed.”

“But how could you execute us?” inquired the Cookie Cook.

“I’ve no idea. But our King is a wonderful inventor, and there is no
doubt he can find a proper way to destroy you. So tell me, are you
going to struggle, or will you go peaceably to meet your doom?”

It was all so ridiculous that Cayke laughed aloud, and even the
Frogman’s wide mouth curled in a smile. Neither was a bit afraid to go
to the Bear City, and it seemed to both that there was a possibility
they might discover the missing dishpan. So the Frogman said, “Lead the
way, little Bear, and we will follow without a struggle.”

“That’s very sensible of you, very sensible indeed,” declared the Brown
Bear. “So for-ward, MARCH!” And with the command he turned around and
began to waddle along a path that led between the trees.

Cayke and the Frogman, as they followed their conductor, could scarce
forbear laughing at his stiff, awkward manner of walking, and although
he moved his stuffy legs fast, his steps were so short that they had to
go slowly in order not to run into him. But after a time they reached a
large, circular space in the center of the forest, which was clear of
any stumps or underbrush. The ground was covered by a soft, gray moss,
pleasant to tread upon. All the trees surrounding this space seemed to
be hollow and had round holes in their trunks, set a little way above
the ground, but otherwise there was nothing unusual about the place and
nothing, in the opinion of the prisoners, to indicate a settlement. But
the little Brown Bear said in a proud and impressive voice (although it
still squeaked), “This is the wonderful city known to fame as Bear
Center!”

“But there are no houses, there are no bears living here at all!”
exclaimed Cayke.

“Oh indeed!” retorted their captor, and raising his gun he pulled the
trigger. The cork flew out of the tin barrel with a loud “pop!” and at
once from every hole in every tree within view of the clearing appeared
the head of a bear. They were of many colors and of many sizes, but all
were made in the same manner as the bear who had met and captured them.

At first a chorus of growls arose, and then a sharp voice cried, “What
has happened, Corporal Waddle?”

“Captives, Your Majesty!” answered the Brown Bear. “Intruders upon our
domain and slanderers of our good name.”

“Ah, that’s important,” answered the voice.

Then from out the hollow trees tumbled a whole regiment of stuffed
bears, some carrying tin swords, some popguns and others long spears
with gay ribbons tied to the handles. There were hundreds of them,
altogether, and they quietly formed a circle around the Frogman and the
Cookie Cook, but kept at a distance and left a large space for the
prisoners to stand in. Presently, this circle parted, and into the
center of it stalked a huge toy bear of a lovely lavender color. He
walked upon his hind legs, as did all the others, and on his head he
wore a tin crown set with diamonds and amethysts, while in one paw he
carried a short wand of some glittering metal that resembled silver but
wasn’t.

“His Majesty the King!” Corporal Waddle, and all the bears bowed low.
Some bowed so low that they lost their balance and toppled over, but
they soon scrambled up again, and the Lavender King squatted on his
haunches before the prisoners and gazed at them steadily with his
bright, pink eyes.



CHAPTER 16
THE LITTLE PINK BEAR


“One Person and one Freak,” said the big Lavender Bear when he had
carefully examined the strangers.

“I am sorry to hear you call poor Cayke the Cookie Cook a Freak,”
remonstrated the Frogman.

“She is the Person,” asserted the King. “Unless I am mistaken, it is
you who are the Freak.”

The Frogman was silent, for he could not truthfully deny it.

“Why have you dared intrude in my forest?” demanded the Bear King.

“We didn’t know it was your forest,” said Cayke, “and we are on our way
to the far east, where the Emerald City is.”

“Ah, it’s a long way from here to the Emerald City,” remarked the King.
“It is so far away, indeed, that no bear among us has even been there.
But what errand requires you to travel such a distance?”

“Someone has stolen my diamond-studded gold dishpan,” explained Cayke,
“and as I cannot be happy without it, I have decided to search the
world over until I find it again. The Frogman, who is very learned and
wonderfully wise, has come with me to give me his assistance. Isn’t it
kind of him?”

The King looked at the Frogman.

“What makes you so wonderfully wise?” he asked.

“I’m not,” was the candid reply. “The Cookie Cook and some others in
the Yip Country think because I am a big frog and talk and act like a
man that I must be very wise. I have learned more than a frog usually
knows, it is true, but I am not yet so wise as I hope to become at some
future time.”

The King nodded, and when he did so, something squeaked in his chest.

“Did Your Majesty speak?” asked Cayke.

“Not just then,” answered the Lavender Bear, seeming to be somewhat
embarrassed. “I am so built, you must know, that when anything pushes
against my chest, as my chin accidentally did just then, I make that
silly noise. In this city it isn’t considered good manners to notice.
But I like your Frogman. He is honest and truthful, which is more than
can be said of many others. As for your late lamented dishpan, I’ll
show it to you.”

With this he waved three times the metal wand which he held in his paw,
and instantly there appeared upon the ground midway between the King
and Cayke a big, round pan made of beaten gold. Around the top edge was
a row of small diamonds; around the center of the pan was another row
of larger diamonds; and at the bottom was a row of exceedingly large
and brilliant diamonds. In fact, they all sparkled magnificently, and
the pan was so big and broad that it took a lot of diamonds to go
around it three times.

Cayke stared so hard that her eyes seemed about to pop out of her head.
“O-o-o-h!” she exclaimed, drawing a deep breath of delight.

“Is this your dishpan?” inquired the King.

“It is, it is!” cried the Cookie Cook, and rushing forward, she fell on
her knees and threw her arms around the precious pan. But her arms came
together without meeting any resistance at all. Cayke tried to seize
the edge, but found nothing to grasp. The pan was surely there, she
thought, for she could see it plainly; but it was not solid; she could
not feel it at all. With a moan of astonishment and despair, she raised
her head to look at the Bear King, who was watching her actions
curiously. Then she turned to the pan again, only to find it had
completely disappeared.

“Poor creature!” murmured the King pityingly. “You must have thought,
for the moment, that you had actually recovered your dishpan. But what
you saw was merely the image of it, conjured up by means of my magic.
It is a pretty dishpan, indeed, though rather big and awkward to
handle. I hope you will some day find it.”

Cayke was grievously disappointed. She began to cry, wiping her eyes on
her apron. The King turned to the throng of toy bears surrounding him
and asked, “Has any of you ever seen this golden dishpan before?”

“No,” they answered in a chorus.

The King seemed to reflect. Presently he inquired, “Where is the Little
Pink Bear?”

“At home, Your Majesty,” was the reply.

“Fetch him here,” commanded the King.

Several of the bears waddled over to one of the trees and pulled from
its hollow a tiny pink bear, smaller than any of the others. A big,
white bear carried the pink one in his arms and set it down beside the
King, arranging the joints of its legs so that it would stand upright.

This Pink Bear seemed lifeless until the King turned a crank which
protruded from its side, when the little creature turned its head
stiffly from side to side and said in a small, shrill voice, “Hurrah
for the King of Bear Center!”

“Very good,” said the big Lavender Bear. “He seems to be working very
well today. Tell me, my Pink Pinkerton, what has become of this lady’s
jeweled dishpan?”

“U-u-u,” said the Pink Bear, and then stopped short.

The King turned the crank again.

“U-g-u the Shoemaker has it,” said the Pink Bear.

“Who is Ugu the Shoemaker?” demanded the King, again turning the crank.

“A magician who lives on a mountain in a wickerwork castle,” was the
reply.

“Where is the mountain?” was the next question.

“Nineteen miles and three furlongs from Bear Center to the northeast.”

“And is the dishpan still at the castle of Ugu the Shoemaker?” asked
the King.

“It is.”

The King turned to Cayke.

“You may rely on this information,” said he. “The Pink Bear can tell us
anything we wish to know, and his words are always words of truth.”

“Is he alive?” asked the Frogman, much interested in the Pink Bear.

“Something animates him when you turn his crank,” replied the King. “I
do not know if it is life or what it is or how it happens that the
Little Pink Bear can answer correctly every question put to him. We
discovered his talent a long time ago, and whenever we wish to know
anything—which is not very often—we ask the Pink Bear. There is no
doubt whatever, madam, that Ugu the Magician has your dishpan, and if
you dare to go to him, you may be able to recover it. But of that I am
not certain.”

“Can’t the Pink Bear tell?” asked Cayke anxiously.

“No, for that is in the future. He can tell anything that HAS happened,
but nothing that is going to happen. Don’t ask me why, for I don’t
know.”

“Well,” said the Cookie Cook after a little thought, “I mean to go to
this magician, anyhow, and tell him I want my dishpan. I wish I knew
what Ugu the Shoemaker is like.”

“Then I’ll show him to you,” promised the King. “But do not be
frightened. It won’t be Ugu, remember, but only his image.” With this,
he waved his metal wand, and in the circle suddenly appeared a thin
little man, very old and skinny, who was seated on a wicker stool
before a wicker table. On the table lay a Great Book with gold clasps.
The Book was open, and the man was reading in it. He wore great
spectacles which were fastened before his eyes by means of a ribbon
that passed around his head and was tied in a bow at the neck. His hair
was very thin and white; his skin, which clung fast to his bones, was
brown and seared with furrows; he had a big, fat nose and little eyes
set close together.

On no account was Ugu the Shoemaker a pleasant person to gaze at. As
his image appeared before them, all were silent and intent until
Corporal Waddle, the Brown Bear, became nervous and pulled the trigger
of his gun. Instantly, the cork flew out of the tin barrel with a loud
“pop!” that made them all jump. And at this sound, the image of the
magician vanished.

“So THAT’S the thief, is it?” said Cayke in an angry voice. “I should
think he’d be ashamed of himself for stealing a poor woman’s diamond
dishpan! But I mean to face him in his wicker castle and force him to
return my property.”

“To me,” said the Bear King reflectively, “he looked like a dangerous
person. I hope he won’t be so unkind as to argue the matter with you.”

The Frogman was much disturbed by the vision of Ugu the Shoemaker, and
Cayke’s determination to go to the magician filled her companion with
misgivings. But he would not break his pledged word to assist the
Cookie Cook, and after breathing a deep sigh of resignation, he asked
the King, “Will Your Majesty lend us this Pink Bear who answers
questions that we may take him with us on our journey? He would be very
useful to us, and we will promise to bring him safely back to you.”

The King did not reply at once. He seemed to be thinking.

“PLEASE let us take the Pink Bear,” begged Cayke. “I’m sure he would be
a great help to us.”

“The Pink Bear,” said the King, “is the best bit of magic I possess,
and there is not another like him in the world. I do not care to let
him out of my sight, nor do I wish to disappoint you; so I believe I
will make the journey in your company and carry my Pink Bear with me.
He can walk when you wind the other side of him, but so slowly and
awkwardly that he would delay you. But if I go along, I can carry him
in my arms, so I will join your party. Whenever you are ready to start,
let me know.”

“But Your Majesty!” exclaimed Corporal Waddle in protest, “I hope you
do not intend to let these prisoners escape without punishment.”

“Of what crime do you accuse them?” inquired the King.

“Why, they trespassed on your domain, for one thing,” said the Brown
Bear.

“We didn’t know it was private property, Your Majesty,” said the Cookie
Cook. “And they asked if any of us had stolen the dishpan!” continued
Corporal Waddle indignantly. “That is the same thing as calling us
thieves and robbers and bandits and brigands, is it not?”

“Every person has the right to ask questions,” said the Frogman.

“But the Corporal is quite correct,” declared the Lavender Bear. “I
condemn you both to death, the execution to take place ten years from
this hour.”

“But we belong in the Land of Oz, where no one ever dies,” Cayke
reminded him.

“Very true,” said the King. “I condemn you to death merely as a matter
of form. It sounds quite terrible, and in ten years we shall have
forgotten all about it. Are you ready to start for the wicker castle of
Ugu the Shoemaker?”

“Quite ready, Your Majesty.”

“But who will rule in your place while you are gone?” asked a big
Yellow Bear.

“I myself will rule while I am gone,” was the reply.

“A King isn’t required to stay at home forever, and if he takes a
notion to travel, whose business is it but his own? All I ask is that
you bears behave yourselves while I am away. If any of you is naughty,
I’ll send him to some girl or boy in America to play with.”

This dreadful threat made all the toy bears look solemn. They assured
the King in a chorus of growls that they would be good. Then the big
Lavender Bear picked up the little Pink Bear, and after tucking it
carefully under one arm, he said, “Goodbye till I come back!” and
waddled along the path that led through the forest. The Frogman and
Cayke the Cookie Cook also said goodbye to the bears and then followed
after the King, much to the regret of the little Brown Bear, who pulled
the trigger of his gun and popped the cork as a parting salute.



CHAPTER 17
THE MEETING


While the Frogman and his party were advancing from the west, Dorothy
and her party were advancing from the east, and so it happened that on
the following night they all camped at a little hill that was only a
few miles from the wicker castle of Ugu the Shoemaker. But the two
parties did not see one another that night, for one camped on one side
of the hill while the other camped on the opposite side. But the next
morning, the Frogman thought he would climb the hill and see what was
on top of it, and at the same time Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, also
decided to climb the hill to find if the wicker castle was visible from
its top. So she stuck her head over an edge just as the Frogman’s head
appeared over another edge, and both, being surprised, kept still while
they took a good look at one another.

Scraps recovered from her astonishment first, and bounding upward, she
turned a somersault and landed sitting down and facing the big Frogman,
who slowly advanced and sat opposite her. “Well met, Stranger!” cried
the Patchwork Girl with a whoop of laughter. “You are quite the
funniest individual I have seen in all my travels.”

“Do you suppose I can be any funnier than you?” asked the Frogman,
gazing at her in wonder.

“I’m not funny to myself, you know,” returned Scraps. “I wish I were.
And perhaps you are so used to your own absurd shape that you do not
laugh whenever you see your reflection in a pool or in a mirror.”

“No,” said the Frogman gravely, “I do not. I used to be proud of my
great size and vain of my culture and education, but since I bathed in
the Truth Pond, I sometimes think it is not right that I should be
different from all other frogs.”

“Right or wrong,” said the Patchwork Girl, “to be different is to be
distinguished. Now in my case, I’m just like all other Patchwork Girls
because I’m the only one there is. But tell me, where did you come
from?”

“The Yip Country,” said he.

“Is that in the Land of Oz?”

“Of course,” replied the Frogman.

“And do you know that your Ruler, Ozma of Oz, has been stolen?”

“I was not aware that I had a Ruler, so of course I couldn’t know that
she was stolen.”

“Well, you have. All the people of Oz,” explained Scraps, “are ruled by
Ozma, whether they know it or not. And she has been stolen. Aren’t you
angry? Aren’t you indignant? Your Ruler, whom you didn’t know you had,
has positively been stolen!”

“That is queer,” remarked the Frogman thoughtfully. “Stealing is a
thing practically unknown in Oz, yet this Ozma has been taken, and a
friend of mine has also had her dishpan stolen. With her I have
traveled all the way from the Yip Country in order to recover it.”

“I don’t see any connection between a Royal Ruler of Oz and a dishpan!”
declared Scraps.

“They’ve both been stolen, haven’t they?”

“True. But why can’t your friend wash her dishes in another dishpan?”
asked Scraps.

“Why can’t you use another Royal Ruler? I suppose you prefer the one
who is lost, and my friend wants her own dishpan, which is made of gold
and studded with diamonds and has magic powers.”

“Magic, eh?” exclaimed Scraps. “THERE is a link that connects the two
steals, anyhow, for it seems that all the magic in the Land of Oz was
stolen at the same time, whether it was in the Emerald City of in
Glinda’s castle or in the Yip Country. Seems mighty strange and
mysterious, doesn’t it?”

“It used to seem that way to me,” admitted the Frogman, “but we have
now discovered who took our dishpan. It was Ugu the Shoemaker.”

“Ugu? Good gracious! That’s the same magician we think has stolen Ozma.
We are now on our way to the castle of this Shoemaker.”

“So are we,” said the Frogman.

“Then follow me, quick! And let me introduce you to Dorothy and the
other girls and to the Wizard of Oz and all the rest of us.”

She sprang up and seized his coatsleeve, dragging him off the hilltop
and down the other side from that whence he had come. And at the foot
of the hill, the Frogman was astonished to find the three girls and the
Wizard and Button-Bright, who were surrounded by a wooden Sawhorse, a
lean Mule, a square Woozy, and a Cowardly Lion. A little black dog ran
up and smelled at the Frogman, but couldn’t growl at him.

“I’ve discovered another party that has been robbed,” shouted Scraps as
she joined them. “This is their leader, and they’re all going to Ugu’s
castle to fight the wicked Shoemaker!”

They regarded the Frogman with much curiosity and interest, and finding
all eyes fixed upon him, the newcomer arranged his necktie and smoothed
his beautiful vest and swung his gold-headed cane like a regular dandy.
The big spectacles over his eyes quite altered his froglike countenance
and gave him a learned and impressive look. Used as she was to seeing
strange creatures in the Land of Oz, Dorothy was amazed at discovering
the Frogman. So were all her companions. Toto wanted to growl at him,
but couldn’t, and he didn’t dare bark. The Sawhorse snorted rather
contemptuously, but the Lion whispered to the wooden steed, “Bear with
this strange creature, my friend, and remember he is no more
extraordinary than you are. Indeed, it is more natural for a frog to be
big than for a Sawhorse to be alive.”

On being questioned, the Frogman told them the whole story of the loss
of Cayke’s highly prized dishpan and their adventures in search of it.
When he came to tell of the Lavender Bear King and of the Little Pink
Bear who could tell anything you wanted to know, his hearers became
eager to see such interesting animals.

“It will be best,” said the Wizard, “to unite our two parties and share
our fortunes together, for we are all bound on the same errand, and as
one band we may more easily defy this shoemaker magician than if
separate. Let us be allies.”

“I will ask my friends about that,” replied the Frogman, and he climbed
over the hill to find Cayke and the toy bears. The Patchwork Girl
accompanied him, and when they came upon the Cookie Cook and the
Lavender Bear and the Pink Bear, it was hard to tell which of the lot
was the most surprised.

“Mercy me!” cried Cayke, addressing the Patchwork Girl. “However did
you come alive?”

Scraps stared at the bears.

“Mercy me!” she echoed, “You are stuffed, as I am, with cotton, and you
appear to be living. That makes me feel ashamed, for I have prided
myself on being the only live cotton-stuffed person in Oz.”

“Perhaps you are,” returned the Lavender Bear, “for I am stuffed with
extra-quality curled hair, and so is the Little Pink Bear.”

“You have relieved my mind of a great anxiety,” declared the Patchwork
Girl, now speaking more cheerfully. “The Scarecrow is stuffed with
straw and you with hair, so I am still the Original and Only
Cotton-Stuffed!”

“I hope I am too polite to criticize cotton as compared with curled
hair,” said the King, “especially as you seem satisfied with it.”

Then the Frogman told of his interview with the party from the Emerald
City and added that the Wizard of Oz had invited the bears and Cayke
and himself to travel in company with them to the castle of Ugu the
Shoemaker. Cayke was much pleased, but the Bear King looked solemn. He
set the Little Pink Bear on his lap and turned the crank in its side
and asked, “Is it safe for us to associate with those people from the
Emerald City?”

And the Pink Bear at once replied,

“Safe for you and safe for me;
Perhaps no others safe will be.”


“That ‘perhaps’ need not worry us,” said the King, “so let us join the
others and offer them our protection.”

Even the Lavender Bear was astonished, however, when on climbing over
the hill he found on the other side the group of queer animals and the
people from the Emerald City. The bears and Cayke were received very
cordially, although Button-Bright was cross when they wouldn’t let him
play with the Little Pink Bear. The three girls greatly admired the toy
bears, and especially the pink one, which they longed to hold.

“You see,” explained the Lavender King in denying them this privilege,
“he’s a very valuable bear, because his magic is a correct guide on all
occasions, and especially if one is in difficulties. It was the Pink
Bear who told us that Ugu the Shoemaker had stolen the Cookie Cook’s
dishpan.”

“And the King’s magic is just as wonderful,” added Cayke, “because it
showed us the Magician himself.”

“What did he look like?” inquired Dorothy.

“He was dreadful!”

“He was sitting at a table and examining an immense Book which had
three golden clasps,” remarked the King.

“Why, that must have been Glinda’s Great Book of Records!” exclaimed
Dorothy. “If it is, it proves that Ugu the Shoemaker stole Ozma, and
with her all the magic in the Emerald City.”

“And my dishpan,” said Cayke.

And the Wizard added, “It also proves that he is following our
adventures in the Book of Records, and therefore knows that we are
seeking him and that we are determined to find him and reach Ozma at
all hazards.”

“If we can,” added the Woozy, but everybody frowned at him.

The Wizard’s statement was so true that the faces around him were very
serious until the Patchwork Girl broke into a peal of laughter.

“Wouldn’t it be a rich joke if he made prisoners of us, too?” she said.

“No one but a crazy Patchwork Girl would consider that a joke,”
grumbled Button-Bright.

And then the Lavender Bear King asked, “Would you like to see this
magical shoemaker?”

“Wouldn’t he know it?” Dorothy inquired.

“No, I think not.”

Then the King waved his metal wand and before them appeared a room in
the wicker castle of Ugu. On the wall of the room hung Ozma’s Magic
Picture, and seated before it was the Magician. They could see the
Picture as well as he could, because it faced them, and in the Picture
was the hillside where they were now sitting, all their forms being
reproduced in miniature. And curiously enough, within the scene of the
Picture was the scene they were now beholding, so they knew that the
Magician was at this moment watching them in the Picture, and also that
he saw himself and the room he was in become visible to the people on
the hillside. Therefore he knew very well that they were watching him
while he was watching them.

In proof of this, Ugu sprang from his seat and turned a scowling face
in their direction; but now he could not see the travelers who were
seeking him, although they could still see him. His actions were so
distinct, indeed, that it seemed he was actually before them. “It is
only a ghost,” said the Bear King. “It isn’t real at all except that it
shows us Ugu just as he looks and tells us truly just what he is
doing.”

“I don’t see anything of my lost growl, though,” said Toto as if to
himself.

Then the vision faded away, and they could see nothing but the grass
and trees and bushes around them.



CHAPTER 18
THE CONFERENCE


“Now then,” said the Wizard, “let us talk this matter over and decide
what to do when we get to Ugu’s wicker castle. There can be no doubt
that the Shoemaker is a powerful Magician, and his powers have been
increased a hundredfold since he secured the Great Book of Records, the
Magic Picture, all of Glinda’s recipes for sorcery, and my own black
bag, which was full of tools of wizardry. The man who could rob us of
those things and the man with all their powers at his command is one
who may prove somewhat difficult to conquer, therefore we should plan
our actions well before we venture too near to his castle.”

“I didn’t see Ozma in the Magic Picture,” said Trot. “What do you
suppose Ugu has done with her?”

“Couldn’t the Little Pink Bear tell us what he did with Ozma?” asked
Button-Bright.

“To be sure,” replied the Lavender King. “I’ll ask him.” So he turned
the crank in the Little Pink Bear’s side and inquired, “Did Ugu the
Shoemaker steal Ozma of Oz?”

“Yes,” answered the Little Pink Bear.

“Then what did he do with her?” asked the King.

“Shut her up in a dark place,” answered the Little Pink Bear.

“Oh, that must be a dungeon cell!” cried Dorothy, horrified. “How
dreadful!”

“Well, we must get her out of it,” said the Wizard. “That is what we
came for, and of course we must rescue Ozma. But how?”

Each one looked at some other one for an answer, and all shook their
heads in a grave and dismal manner. All but Scraps, who danced around
them gleefully. “You’re afraid,” said the Patchwork Girl, “because so
many things can hurt your meat bodies. Why don’t you give it up and go
home? How can you fight a great magician when you have nothing to fight
with?”

Dorothy looked at her reflectively.

“Scraps,” said she, “you know that Ugu couldn’t hurt you a bit,
whatever he did, nor could he hurt ME, ’cause I wear the Gnome King’s
Magic Belt. S’pose just we two go on together and leave the others here
to wait for us.”

“No, no!” said the Wizard positively. “That won’t do at all. Ozma is
more powerful than either of you, yet she could not defeat the wicked
Ugu, who has shut her up in a dungeon. We must go to the Shoemaker in
one mighty band, for only in union is there strength.”

“That is excellent advice,” said the Lavender Bear approvingly.

“But what can we do when we get to Ugu?” inquired the Cookie Cook
anxiously.

“Do not expect a prompt answer to that important question,” replied the
Wizard, “for we must first plan our line of conduct. Ugu knows, of
course, that we are after him, for he has seen our approach in the
Magic Picture, and he has read of all we have done up to the present
moment in the Great Book of Records. Therefore we cannot expect to take
him by surprise.”

“Don’t you suppose Ugu would listen to reason?” asked Betsy. “If we
explained to him how wicked he has been, don’t you think he’d let poor
Ozma go?”

“And give me back my dishpan?” added the Cookie Cook eagerly.

“Yes, yes, won’t he say he’s sorry and get on his knees and beg our
pardon?” cried Scraps, turning a flip-flop to show her scorn of the
suggestion. “When Ugu the Shoemaker does that, please knock at the
front door and let me know.”

The Wizard sighed and rubbed his bald head with a puzzled air. “I’m
quite sure Ugu will not be polite to us,” said he, “so we must conquer
this cruel magician by force, much as we dislike to be rude to anyone.
But none of you has yet suggested a way to do that. Couldn’t the Little
Pink Bear tell us how?” he asked, turning to the Bear King.

“No, for that is something that is GOING to happen,” replied the
Lavender Bear. “He can only tell us what already HAS happened.”

Again, they were grave and thoughtful. But after a time, Betsy said in
a hesitating voice, “Hank is a great fighter. Perhaps HE could conquer
the magician.”

The Mule turned his head to look reproachfully at his old friend, the
young girl. “Who can fight against magic?” he asked.

“The Cowardly Lion could,” said Dorothy.

The Lion, who was lying with his front legs spread out, his chin on his
paws, raised his shaggy head. “I can fight when I’m not afraid,” said
he calmly, “but the mere mention of a fight sets me to trembling.”

“Ugu’s magic couldn’t hurt the Sawhorse,” suggested tiny Trot.

“And the Sawhorse couldn’t hurt the Magician,” declared that wooden
animal.

“For my part,” said Toto, “I am helpless, having lost my growl.”

“Then,” said Cayke the Cookie Cook, “we must depend upon the Frogman.
His marvelous wisdom will surely inform him how to conquer the wicked
Magician and restore to me my dishpan.”

All eyes were now turned questioningly upon the Frogman. Finding
himself the center of observation, he swung his gold-headed cane,
adjusted his big spectacles, and after swelling out his chest, sighed
and said in a modest tone of voice:

“Respect for truth obliges me to confess that Cayke is mistaken in
regard to my superior wisdom. I am not very wise. Neither have I had
any practical experience in conquering magicians. But let us consider
this case. What is Ugu, and what is a magician? Ugu is a renegade
shoemaker, and a magician is an ordinary man who, having learned how to
do magical tricks, considers himself above his fellows. In this case,
the Shoemaker has been naughty enough to steal a lot of magical tools
and things that did not belong to him, and he is more wicked to steal
than to be a magician. Yet with all the arts at his command, Ugu is
still a man, and surely there are ways in which a man may be conquered.
How, do you say, how? Allow me to state that I don’t know. In my
judgment, we cannot decide how best to act until we get to Ugu’s
castle. So let us go to it and take a look at it. After that, we may
discover an idea that will guide us to victory.”

“That may not be a wise speech, but it sounds good,” said Dorothy
approvingly. “Ugu the Shoemaker is not only a common man, but he’s a
wicked man and a cruel man and deserves to be conquered. We mustn’t
have any mercy on him till Ozma is set free. So let’s go to his castle
as the Frogman says and see what the place looks like.”

No one offered any objection to this plan, and so it was adopted. They
broke camp and were about to start on the journey to Ugu’s castle when
they discovered that Button-Bright was lost again. The girls and the
Wizard shouted his name, and the Lion roared and the Donkey brayed and
the Frogman croaked and the Big Lavender Bear growled (to the envy of
Toto, who couldn’t growl but barked his loudest), yet none of them
could make Button-Bright hear. So after vainly searching for the boy a
full hour, they formed a procession and proceeded in the direction of
the wicker castle of Ugu the Shoemaker.

“Button-Bright’s always getting lost,” said Dorothy. “And if he wasn’t
always getting found again, I’d prob’ly worry. He may have gone ahead
of us, and he may have gone back, but wherever he is, we’ll find him
sometime and somewhere, I’m almost sure.”



CHAPTER 19
UGU THE SHOEMAKER


A curious thing about Ugu the Shoemaker was that he didn’t suspect in
the least that he was wicked. He wanted to be powerful and great, and
he hoped to make himself master of all the Land of Oz that he might
compel everyone in that fairy country to obey him, His ambition blinded
him to the rights of others, and he imagined anyone else would act just
as he did if anyone else happened to be as clever as himself.

When he inhabited his little shoemaking shop in the City of Herku, he
had been discontented, for a shoemaker is not looked upon with high
respect, and Ugu knew that his ancestors had been famous magicians for
many centuries past and therefore his family was above the ordinary.
Even his father practiced magic when Ugu was a boy, but his father had
wandered away from Herku and had never come back again. So when Ugu
grew up, he was forced to make shoes for a living, knowing nothing of
the magic of his forefathers. But one day, in searching through the
attic of his house, he discovered all the books of magical recipes and
many magical instruments which had formerly been in use in his family.
From that day, he stopped making shoes and began to study magic.
Finally, he aspired to become the greatest magician in Oz, and for days
and weeks and months he thought on a plan to render all the other
sorcerers and wizards, as well as those with fairy powers, helpless to
oppose him.

From the books of his ancestors, he learned the following facts:

(1) That Ozma of Oz was the fairy ruler of the Emerald City and the
Land of Oz and that she could not be destroyed by any magic ever
devised. Also, by means of her Magic Picture she would be able to
discover anyone who approached her royal palace with the idea of
conquering it.

(2) That Glinda the Good was the most powerful Sorceress in Oz, among
her other magical possessions being the Great Book of Records, which
told her all that happened anywhere in the world. This Book of Records
was very dangerous to Ugu’s plans, and Glinda was in the service of
Ozma and would use her arts of sorcery to protect the girl Ruler.

(3) That the Wizard of Oz, who lived in Ozma’s palace, had been taught
much powerful magic by Glinda and had a bag of magic tools with which
he might be able to conquer the Shoemaker.

(4) That there existed in Oz—in the Yip Country—a jeweled dishpan made
of gold, which dishpan would grow large enough for a man to sit inside
it. Then, when he grasped both the golden handles, the dishpan would
transport him in an instant to any place he wished to go within the
borders of the Land of Oz.

No one now living except Ugu knew of the powers of the Magic Dishpan,
so after long study, the shoemaker decided that if he could manage to
secure the dishpan, he could by its means rob Ozma and Glinda and the
Wizard of Oz of all their magic, thus becoming himself the most
powerful person in all the land. His first act was to go away from the
City of Herku and build for himself the Wicker Castle in the hills.
Here he carried his books and instruments of magic, and here for a full
year he diligently practiced all the magical arts learned from his
ancestors. At the end of that time, he could do a good many wonderful
things.

Then, when all his preparations were made, he set out for the Yip
Country, and climbing the steep mountain at night he entered the house
of Cayke the Cookie Cook and stole her diamond-studded gold dishpan
while all the Yips were asleep, Taking his prize outside, he set the
pan upon the ground and uttered the required magic word. Instantly, the
dishpan grew as large as a big washtub, and Ugu seated himself in it
and grasped the two handles. Then he wished himself in the great
drawing room of Glinda the Good.

He was there in a flash. First he took the Great Book of Records and
put it in the dishpan. Then he went to Glinda’s laboratory and took all
her rare chemical compounds and her instruments of sorcery, placing
these also in the dishpan, which he caused to grow large enough to hold
them. Next he seated himself amongst the treasures he had stolen and
wished himself in the room in Ozma’s palace which the Wizard occupied
and where he kept his bag of magic tools. This bag Ugu added to his
plunder and then wished himself in the apartments of Ozma.

Here he first took the Magic Picture from the wall and then seized all
the other magical things which Ozma possessed. Having placed these in
the dishpan, he was about to climb in himself when he looked up and saw
Ozma standing beside him. Her fairy instinct had warned her that danger
was threatening her, so the beautiful girl Ruler rose from her couch
and leaving her bedchamber at once confronted the thief.

Ugu had to think quickly, for he realized that if he permitted Ozma to
rouse the inmates of her palace, all his plans and his present
successes were likely to come to naught. So he threw a scarf over the
girl’s head so she could not scream, and pushed her into the dishpan
and tied her fast so she could not move. Then he climbed in beside her
and wished himself in his own wicker castle. The Magic Dishpan was
there in an instant, with all its contents, and Ugu rubbed his hands
together in triumphant joy as he realized that he now possessed all the
important magic in the Land of Oz and could force all the inhabitants
of that fairyland to do as he willed.

So quickly had his journey been accomplished that before daylight the
robber magician had locked Ozma in a room, making her a prisoner, and
had unpacked and arranged all his stolen goods. The next day he placed
the Book of Records on his table and hung the Magic Picture on his wall
and put away in his cupboards and drawers all the elixirs and magic
compounds he had stolen. The magical instruments he polished and
arranged, and this was fascinating work and made him very happy.

By turns the imprisoned Ruler wept and scolded the Shoemaker, haughtily
threatening him with dire punishment for the wicked deeds he had done.
Ugu became somewhat afraid of his fairy prisoner, in spite of the fact
that he believed he had robbed her of all her powers; so he performed
an enchantment that quickly disposed of her and placed her out of his
sight and hearing. After that, being occupied with other things, he
soon forgot her.

But now, when he looked into the Magic Picture and read the Great Book
of Records, the Shoemaker learned that his wickedness was not to go
unchallenged. Two important expeditions had set out to find him and
force him to give up his stolen property. One was the party headed by
the Wizard and Dorothy, while the other consisted of Cayke and the
Frogman. Others were also searching, but not in the right places. These
two groups, however, were headed straight for the wicker castle, and so
Ugu began to plan how best to meet them and to defeat their efforts to
conquer him.



CHAPTER 20
MORE SURPRISES


All that first day after the union of the two parties, our friends
marched steadily toward the wicker castle of Ugu the Shoemaker. When
night came, they camped in a little grove and passed a pleasant evening
together, although some of them were worried because Button-Bright was
still lost.

“Perhaps,” said Toto as the animals lay grouped together for the night,
“this Shoemaker who stole my growl and who stole Ozma has also stolen
Button-Bright.”

“How do you know that the Shoemaker stole your growl?” demanded the
Woozy.

“He has stolen about everything else of value in Oz, hasn’t he?”
replied the dog.

“He has stolen everything he wants, perhaps,” agreed the Lion, “but
what could anyone want with your growl?”

“Well,” said the dog, wagging his tail slowly, “my recollection is that
it was a wonderful growl, soft and low and—and—”

“And ragged at the edges,” said the Sawhorse.

“So,” continued Toto, “if that magician hadn’t any growl of his own, he
might have wanted mine and stolen it.”

“And if he has, he will soon wish he hadn’t,” remarked the Mule. “Also,
if he has stolen Button-Bright, he will be sorry.”

“Don’t you like Button-Bright, then?” asked the Lion in surprise.

“It isn’t a question of liking him,” replied the Mule. “It’s a question
of watching him and looking after him. Any boy who causes his friends
so much worry isn’t worth having around. I never get lost.”

“If you did,” said Toto, “no one would worry a bit. I think
Button-Bright is a very lucky boy because he always gets found.”

“See here,” said the Lion, “this chatter is keeping us all awake, and
tomorrow is likely to be a busy day. Go to sleep and forget your
quarrels.”

“Friend Lion,” retorted the dog, “if I hadn’t lost my growl, you would
hear it now. I have as much right to talk as you have to sleep.”

The Lion sighed.

“If only you had lost your voice when you lost your growl,” said he,
“you would be a more agreeable companion.”

But they quieted down after that, and soon the entire camp was wrapped
in slumber. Next morning they made an early start, but had hardly
proceeded on their way an hour when, on climbing a slight elevation,
they beheld in the distance a low mountain on top of which stood Ugu’s
wicker castle. It was a good-sized building and rather pretty because
the sides, roofs and domes were all of wicker, closely woven as it is
in fine baskets.

“I wonder if it is strong?” said Dorothy musingly as she eyed the queer
castle.

“I suppose it is, since a magician built it,” answered the Wizard.
“With magic to protect it, even a paper castle might be as strong as if
made of stone. This Ugu must be a man of ideas, because he does things
in a different way from other people.”

“Yes. No one else would steal our dear Ozma,” sighed tiny Trot.

“I wonder if Ozma is there?” said Betsy, indicating the castle with a
nod of her head.

“Where else could she be?” asked Scraps.

“Suppose we ask the Pink Bear,” suggested Dorothy.

That seemed a good idea, so they halted the procession, and the Bear
King held the little Pink Bear on his lap and turned the crank in its
side and asked, “Where is Ozma of Oz?”

And the little Pink Bear answered, “She is in a hole in the ground a
half mile away at your left.”

“Good gracious!” cried Dorothy.

“Then she is not in Ugu’s castle at all.”

“It is lucky we asked that question,” said the Wizard, “for if we can
find Ozma and rescue her, there will be no need for us to fight that
wicked and dangerous magician.”

“Indeed!” said Cayke. “Then what about my dishpan?”

The Wizard looked puzzled at her tone of remonstrance, so she added,
“Didn’t you people from the Emerald City promise that we would all
stick together, and that you would help me to get my dishpan if I would
help you to get your Ozma? And didn’t I bring to you the little Pink
Bear, which has told you where Ozma is hidden?”

“She’s right,” said Dorothy to the Wizard.

“We must do as we agreed.”

“Well, first of all, let us go and rescue Ozma,” proposed the Wizard.
“Then our beloved Ruler may be able to advise us how to conquer Ugu the
Shoemaker.” So they turned to the left and marched for half a mile
until they came to a small but deep hole in the ground. At once, all
rushed to the brim to peer into the hole, but instead of finding there
Princess Ozma of Oz, all that they saw was Button-Bright, who was lying
asleep on the bottom.

Their cries soon wakened the boy, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. When
he recognized his friends, he smiled sweetly, saying, “Found again!”

“Where is Ozma?” inquired Dorothy anxiously.

“I don’t know,” answered Button-Bright from the depths of the hole. “I
got lost yesterday, as you may remember, and in the night while I was
wandering around in the moonlight trying to find my way back to you, I
suddenly fell into this hole.”

“And wasn’t Ozma in it then?”

“There was no one in it but me, and I was sorry it wasn’t entirely
empty. The sides are so steep I can’t climb out, so there was nothing
to be done but sleep until someone found me. Thank you for coming. If
you’ll please let down a rope, I’ll empty this hole in a hurry.”

“How strange!” said Dorothy, greatly disappointed.

“It’s evident the Pink Bear didn’t tell the truth.”

“He never makes a mistake,” declared the Lavender Bear King in a tone
that showed his feelings were hurt. And then he turned the crank of the
little Pink Bear again and asked, “Is this the hole that Ozma of Oz is
in?”

“Yes,” answered the Pink Bear.

“That settles it,” said the King positively. “Your Ozma is in this hole
in the ground.”

“Don’t be silly,” returned Dorothy impatiently. “Even your beady eyes
can see there is no one in the hole but Button-Bright.”

“Perhaps Button-Bright is Ozma,” suggested the King.

“And perhaps he isn’t! Ozma is a girl, and Button-Bright is a boy.”

“Your Pink Bear must be out of order,” said the Wizard, “for, this time
at least, his machinery has caused him to make an untrue statement.”

The Bear King was so angry at this remark that he turned away, holding
the Pink Bear in his paws, and refused to discuss the matter in any
further way.

“At any rate,” said the Frogman, “the Pink Bear has led us to your boy
friend and so enabled you to rescue him.”

Scraps was leaning so far over the hole trying to find Ozma in it that
suddenly she lost her balance and pitched in head foremost. She fell
upon Button-Bright and tumbled him over, but he was not hurt by her
soft, stuffed body and only laughed at the mishap. The Wizard buckled
some straps together and let one end of them down into the hole, and
soon both Scraps and the boy had climbed up and were standing safely
beside the others. They looked once more for Ozma, but the hole was now
absolutely vacant. It was a round hole, so from the top they could
plainly see every part of it. Before they left the place, Dorothy went
to the Bear King and said, “I’m sorry we couldn’t believe what the
little Pink Bear said, ’cause we don’t want to make you feel bad by
doubting him. There must be a mistake, somewhere, and we prob’ly don’t
understand just what the little Pink Bear said. Will you let me ask him
one more question?”

The Lavender Bear King was a good-natured bear, considering how he was
made and stuffed and jointed, so he accepted Dorothy’s apology and
turned the crank and allowed the little girl to question his wee Pink
Bear.

“Is Ozma REALLY in this hole?” asked Dorothy.

“No,” said the little Pink Bear.

This surprised everybody. Even the Bear King was now puzzled by the
contradictory statements of his oracle.

“Where IS she?” asked the King.

“Here, among you,” answered the little Pink Bear.

“Well,” said Dorothy, “this beats me entirely! I guess the little Pink
Bear has gone crazy.”

“Perhaps,” called Scraps, who was rapidly turning “cartwheels” all
around the perplexed group, “Ozma is invisible.”

“Of course!” cried Betsy. “That would account for it.”

“Well, I’ve noticed that people can speak, even when they’ve been made
invisible,” said the Wizard. And then he looked all around him and said
in a solemn voice, “Ozma, are you here?”

There was no reply. Dorothy asked the question, too, and so did
Button-Bright and Trot and Betsy, but none received any reply at all.

“It’s strange, it’s terrible strange!” muttered Cayke the Cookie Cook.
“I was sure that the little Pink Bear always tells the truth.”

“I still believe in his honesty,” said the Frogman, and this tribute so
pleased the Bear King that he gave these last speakers grateful looks,
but still gazed sourly on the others.

“Come to think of it,” remarked the Wizard, “Ozma couldn’t be
invisible, for she is a fairy, and fairies cannot be made invisible
against their will. Of course, she could be imprisoned by the magician
or enchanted or transformed, in spite of her fairy powers, but Ugu
could not render her invisible by any magic at his command.”

“I wonder if she’s been transformed into Button-Bright?” said Dorothy
nervously. Then she looked steadily at the boy and asked, “Are you
Ozma? Tell me truly!”

Button-Bright laughed.

“You’re getting rattled, Dorothy,” he replied. “Nothing ever enchants
ME. If I were Ozma, do you think I’d have tumbled into that hole?”

“Anyhow,” said the Wizard, “Ozma would never try to deceive her friends
or prevent them from recognizing her in whatever form she happened to
be. The puzzle is still a puzzle, so let us go on to the wicker castle
and question the magician himself. Since it was he who stole our Ozma,
Ugu is the one who must tell us where to find her.”



CHAPTER 21
MAGIC AGAINST MAGIC


The Wizard’s advice was good, so again they started in the direction of
the low mountain on the crest of which the wicker castle had been
built. They had been gradually advancing uphill, so now the elevation
seemed to them more like a round knoll than a mountaintop. However, the
sides of the knoll were sloping and covered with green grass, so there
was a stiff climb before them yet.

Undaunted, they plodded on and had almost reached the knoll when they
suddenly observed that it was surrounded by a circle of flame. At
first, the flames barely rose above the ground, but presently they grew
higher and higher until a circle of flaming tongues of fire taller than
any of their heads quite surrounded the hill on which the wicker castle
stood. When they approached the flames, the heat was so intense that it
drove them back again.

“This will never do for me!” exclaimed the Patchwork Girl. “I catch
fire very easily.”

“It won’t do for me either,” grumbled the Sawhorse, prancing to the
rear.

“I also strongly object to fire,” said the Bear King, following the
Sawhorse to a safe distance and hugging the little Pink Bear with his
paws.

“I suppose the foolish Shoemaker imagines these blazes will stop us,”
remarked the Wizard with a smile of scorn for Ugu. “But I am able to
inform you that this is merely a simple magic trick which the robber
stole from Glinda the Good, and by good fortune I know how to destroy
these flames as well as how to produce them. Will some one of you
kindly give me a match?”

You may be sure the girls carried no matches, nor did the Frogman or
any of the animals. But Button-Bright, after searching carefully
through his pockets, which contained all sorts of useful and useless
things, finally produced a match and handed it to the Wizard, who tied
it to the end of a branch which he tore from a small tree growing near
them. Then the little Wizard carefully lighted the match, and running
forward thrust it into the nearest flame. Instantly, the circle of fire
began to die away, and soon vanished completely leaving the way clear
for them to proceed.

“That was funny!” laughed Button-Bright.

“Yes,” agreed the Wizard, “it seems odd that a little match could
destroy such a great circle of fire, but when Glinda invented this
trick, she believed no one would ever think of a match being a remedy
for fire. I suppose even Ugu doesn’t know how we managed to quench the
flames of his barrier, for only Glinda and I know the secret. Glinda’s
Book of Magic which Ugu stole told how to make the flames, but not how
to put them out.”

They now formed in marching order and proceeded to advance up the slope
of the hill, but had not gone far when before them rose a wall of
steel, the surface of which was thickly covered with sharp, gleaming
points resembling daggers. The wall completely surrounded the wicker
castle, and its sharp points prevented anyone from climbing it. Even
the Patchwork Girl might be ripped to pieces if she dared attempt it.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Wizard cheerfully, “Ugu is now using one of my own
tricks against me. But this is more serious than the Barrier of Fire,
because the only way to destroy the wall is to get on the other side of
it.”

“How can that be done?” asked Dorothy.

The Wizard looked thoughtfully around his little party, and his face
grew troubled. “It’s a pretty high wall,” he sadly remarked. “I’m
pretty sure the Cowardly Lion could not leap over it.”

“I’m sure of that, too!” said the Lion with a shudder of fear. “If I
foolishly tried such a leap, I would be caught on those dreadful
spikes.”

“I think I could do it, sir,” said the Frogman with a bow to the
Wizard. “It is an uphill jump as well as being a high jump, but I’m
considered something of a jumper by my friends in the Yip Country, and
I believe a good, strong leap will carry me to the other side.”

“I’m sure it would,” agreed the Cookie Cook.

“Leaping, you know, is a froglike accomplishment,” continued the
Frogman modestly, “but please tell me what I am to do when I reach the
other side of the wall.”

“You’re a brave creature,” said the Wizard admiringly. “Has anyone a
pin?”

Betsy had one, which she gave him. “All you need do,” said the Wizard
to the Frogman, giving him the pin, “is to stick this into the other
side of the wall.”

“But the wall is of steel!” exclaimed the big frog.

“I know. At least, it SEEMS to be steel, but do as I tell you. Stick
the pin into the wall, and it will disappear.”

The Frogman took off his handsome coat and carefully folded it and laid
it on the grass. Then he removed his hat and laid it together with his
gold-headed cane beside the coat. He then went back a way and made
three powerful leaps in rapid succession. The first two leaps took him
to the wall, and the third leap carried him well over it, to the
amazement of all. For a short time, he disappeared from their view, but
when he had obeyed the Wizard’s injunction and had thrust the pin into
the wall, the huge barrier vanished and showed them the form of the
Frogman, who now went to where his coat lay and put it on again.

“We thank you very much,” said the delighted Wizard.

“That was the most wonderful leap I ever saw, and it has saved us from
defeat by our enemy. Let us now hurry on to the castle before Ugu the
Shoemaker thinks up some other means to stop us.”

“We must have surprised him so far,” declared Dorothy.

“Yes indeed. The fellow knows a lot of magic—all of our tricks and some
of his own,” replied the Wizard. “So if he is half as clever as he
ought to be, we shall have trouble with him yet.”

He had scarcely spoken these words when out from the gates of the
wicker castle marched a regiment of soldiers, clad in gay uniforms and
all bearing long, pointed spears and sharp battle axes. These soldiers
were girls, and the uniforms were short skirts of yellow and black
satin, golden shoes, bands of gold across their foreheads and necklaces
of glittering jewels. Their jackets were scarlet, braided with silver
cords. There were hundreds of these girl-soldiers, and they were more
terrible than beautiful, being strong and fierce in appearance. They
formed a circle all around the castle and faced outward, their spears
pointed toward the invaders, and their battle axes held over their
shoulders, ready to strike. Of course, our friends halted at once, for
they had not expected this dreadful array of soldiery. The Wizard
seemed puzzled, and his companions exchanged discouraged looks.

“I’d no idea Ugu had such an army as that,” said Dorothy. “The castle
doesn’t look big enough to hold them all.”

“It isn’t,” declared the Wizard.

“But they all marched out of it.”

“They seemed to, but I don’t believe it is a real army at all. If Ugu
the Shoemaker had so many people living with him, I’m sure the Czarover
of Herku would have mentioned the fact to us.”

“They’re only girls!” laughed Scraps.

“Girls are the fiercest soldiers of all,” declared the Frogman. “They
are more brave than men, and they have better nerves. That is probably
why the magician uses them for soldiers and has sent them to oppose
us.”

No one argued this statement, for all were staring hard at the line of
soldiers, which now, having taken a defiant position, remained
motionless.

“Here is a trick of magic new to me,” admitted the Wizard after a time.
“I do not believe the army is real, but the spears may be sharp enough
to prick us, nevertheless, so we must be cautious. Let us take time to
consider how to meet this difficulty.”

While they were thinking it over, Scraps danced closer to the line of
girl soldiers. Her button eyes sometimes saw more than did the natural
eyes of her comrades, and so after staring hard at the magician’s army,
she boldly advanced and danced right through the threatening line! On
the other side, she waved her stuffed arms and called out, “Come on,
folks. The spears can’t hurt you.” said the Wizard gaily. “An optical
illusion, as I thought. Let us all follow the Patchwork Girl.” The
three little girls were somewhat nervous in attempting to brave the
spears and battle axes, but after the others had safely passed the
line, they ventured to follow. And when all had passed through the
ranks of the girl army, the army itself magically disappeared from
view.

All this time our friends had been getting farther up the hill and
nearer to the wicker castle. Now, continuing their advance, they
expected something else to oppose their way, but to their astonishment
nothing happened, and presently they arrived at the wicker gates, which
stood wide open, and boldly entered the domain of Ugu the Shoemaker.



CHAPTER 22
IN THE WICKER CASTLE


No sooner were the Wizard of Oz and his followers well within the
castle entrance when the big gates swung to with a clang and heavy bars
dropped across them. They looked at one another uneasily, but no one
cared to speak of the incident. If they were indeed prisoners in the
wicker castle, it was evident they must find a way to escape, but their
first duty was to attend to the errand on which they had come and seek
the Royal Ozma, whom they believed to be a prisoner of the magician,
and rescue her.

They found they had entered a square courtyard, from which an entrance
led into the main building of the castle. No person had appeared to
greet them so far, although a gaudy peacock perched upon the wall
cackled with laughter and said in its sharp, shrill voice, “Poor fools!
Poor fools!”

“I hope the peacock is mistaken,” remarked the Frogman, but no one else
paid any attention to the bird. They were a little awed by the
stillness and loneliness of the place. As they entered the doors of the
castle, which stood invitingly open, these also closed behind them and
huge bolts shot into place. The animals had all accompanied the party
into the castle because they felt it would be dangerous for them to
separate. They were forced to follow a zigzag passage, turning this way
and that, until finally they entered a great central hall, circular in
form and with a high dome from which was suspended an enormous
chandelier.

The Wizard went first, and Dorothy, Betsy and Trot followed him, Toto
keeping at the heels of his little mistress. Then came the Lion, the
Woozy and the Sawhorse, then Cayke the Cookie Cook and Button-Bright,
then the Lavender Bear carrying the Pink Bear, and finally the Frogman
and the Patchwork Girl, with Hank the Mule tagging behind. So it was
the Wizard who caught the first glimpse of the big, domed hall, but the
others quickly followed and gathered in a wondering group just within
the entrance.

Upon a raised platform at one side was a heavy table on which lay
Glinda’s Great Book of Records, but the platform was firmly fastened to
the floor and the table was fastened to the platform and the Book was
chained fast to the table, just as it had been when it was kept in
Glinda’s palace. On the wall over the table hung Ozma’s Magic Picture.
On a row of shelves at the opposite side of the hall stood all the
chemicals and essences of magic and all the magical instruments that
had been stolen from Glinda and Ozma and the Wizard, with glass doors
covering the shelves so that no one could get at them.

And in a far corner sat Ugu the Shoemaker, his feet lazily extended,
his skinny hands clasped behind his head. He was leaning back at his
ease and calmly smoking a long pipe. Around the magician was a sort of
cage, seemingly made of golden bars set wide apart, and at his feet,
also within the cage, reposed the long-sought diamond-studded dishpan
of Cayke the Cookie Cook. Princess Ozma of Oz was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well,” said Ugu when the invaders had stood in silence for a
moment, staring about them. “This visit is an unexpected pleasure, I
assure you. I knew you were coming, and I know why you are here. You
are not welcome, for I cannot use any of you to my advantage, but as
you have insisted on coming, I hope you will make the afternoon call as
brief as possible. It won’t take long to transact your business with
me. You will ask me for Ozma, and my reply will be that you may find
her—if you can.”

“Sir,” answered the Wizard in a tone of rebuke, “you are a very wicked
and cruel person. I suppose you imagine, because you have stolen this
poor woman’s dishpan and all the best magic in Oz, that you are more
powerful than we are and will be able to triumph over us.”

“Yes,” said Ugu the Shoemaker, slowly filling his pipe with fresh
tobacco from a silver bowl that stood beside him, “that is exactly what
I imagine. It will do you no good to demand from me the girl who was
formerly the Ruler of Oz, because I will not tell you where I have
hidden her, and you can’t guess in a thousand years. Neither will I
restore to you any of the magic I have captured. I am not so foolish.
But bear this in mind: I mean to be the Ruler of Oz myself, hereafter,
so I advise you to be careful how you address your future Monarch.”

“Ozma is still Ruler of Oz, wherever you may have hidden her,” declared
the Wizard. “And bear this in mind, miserable Shoemaker: we intend to
find her and to rescue her in time, but our first duty and pleasure
will be to conquer you and then punish you for your misdeeds.”

“Very well, go ahead and conquer,” said Ugu. “I’d really like to see
how you can do it.”

Now although the little Wizard had spoken so boldly, he had at the
moment no idea how they might conquer the magician. He had that morning
given the Frogman, at his request, a dose of zosozo from his bottle,
and the Frogman had promised to fight a good fight if it was necessary,
but the Wizard knew that strength alone could not avail against magical
arts. The toy Bear King seemed to have some pretty good magic, however,
and the Wizard depended to an extent on that. But something ought to be
done right away, and the Wizard didn’t know what it was.

While he considered this perplexing question and the others stood
looking at him as their leader, a queer thing happened. The floor of
the great circular hall on which they were standing suddenly began to
tip. Instead of being flat and level, it became a slant, and the slant
grew steeper and steeper until none of the party could manage to stand
upon it. Presently they all slid down to the wall, which was now under
them, and then it became evident that the whole vast room was slowly
turning upside down! Only Ugu the Shoemaker, kept in place by the bars
of his golden cage, remained in his former position, and the wicked
magician seemed to enjoy the surprise of his victims immensely.

First they all slid down to the wall back of them, but as the room
continued to turn over, they next slid down the wall and found
themselves at the bottom of the great dome, bumping against the big
chandelier which, like everything else, was now upside down. The
turning movement now stopped, and the room became stationary. Looking
far up, they saw Ugu suspended in his cage at the very top, which had
once been the floor.

“Ah,” said he, grinning down at them, “the way to conquer is to act,
and he who acts promptly is sure to win. This makes a very good prison,
from which I am sure you cannot escape. Please amuse yourselves in any
way you like, but I must beg you to excuse me, as I have business in
another part of my castle.”

Saying this, he opened a trap door in the floor of his cage (which was
now over his head) and climbed through it and disappeared from their
view. The diamond dishpan still remained in the cage, but the bars kept
it from falling down on their heads.

“Well, I declare,” said the Patchwork Girl, seizing one of the bars of
the chandelier and swinging from it, “we must peg one for the
Shoemaker, for he has trapped us very cleverly.”

“Get off my foot, please,” said the Lion to the Sawhorse.

“And oblige me, Mr. Mule,” remarked the Woozy, “by taking your tail out
of my left eye.”

“It’s rather crowded down here,” explained Dorothy, “because the dome
is rounding and we have all slid into the middle of it. But let us keep
as quiet as possible until we can think what’s best to be done.”

“Dear, dear!” wailed Cayke, “I wish I had my darling dishpan,” and she
held her arms longingly toward it.

“I wish I had the magic on those shelves up there,” sighed the Wizard.

“Don’t you s’pose we could get to it?” asked Trot anxiously.

“We’d have to fly,” laughed the Patchwork Girl.

But the Wizard took the suggestion seriously, and so did the Frogman.
They talked it over and soon planned an attempt to reach the shelves
where the magical instruments were. First the Frogman lay against the
rounding dome and braced his foot on the stem of the chandelier; then
the Wizard climbed over him and lay on the dome with his feet on the
Frogman’s shoulders; the Cookie Cook came next; then Button-Bright
climbed to the woman’s shoulders; then Dorothy climbed up and Betsy and
Trot, and finally the Patchwork Girl, and all their lengths made a long
line that reached far up the dome, but not far enough for Scraps to
touch the shelves.

“Wait a minute. Perhaps I can reach the magic,” called the Bear King,
and began scrambling up the bodies of the others. But when he came to
the Cookie Cook, his soft paws tickled her side so that she squirmed
and upset the whole line. Down they came, tumbling in a heap against
the animals, and although no one was much hurt, it was a bad mix-up,
and the Frogman, who was at the bottom, almost lost his temper before
he could get on his feet again.

Cayke positively refused to try what she called “the pyramid act”
again, and as the Wizard was now convinced they could not reach the
magic tools in that manner, the attempt was abandoned. “But SOMETHING
must be done,” said the Wizard, and then he turned to the Lavender Bear
and asked, “Cannot Your Majesty’s magic help us to escape from here?”

“My magic powers are limited,” was the reply. “When I was stuffed, the
fairies stood by and slyly dropped some magic into my stuffing.
Therefore I can do any of the magic that’s inside me, but nothing else.
You, however, are a wizard, and a wizard should be able to do
anything.”

“Your Majesty forgets that my tools of magic have been stolen,” said
the Wizard sadly, “and a wizard without tools is as helpless as a
carpenter without a hammer or saw.”

“Don’t give up,” pleaded Button-Bright, “’cause if we can’t get out of
this queer prison, we’ll all starve to death.”

“Not I!” laughed the Patchwork Girl, now standing on top of the
chandelier at the place that was meant to be the bottom of it.

“Don’t talk of such dreadful things,” said Trot, shuddering. “We came
here to capture the Shoemaker, didn’t we?”

“Yes, and to save Ozma,” said Betsy.

“And here we are, captured ourselves, and my darling dishpan up there
in plain sight!” wailed the Cookie Cook, wiping her eyes on the tail of
the Frogman’s coat.

“Hush!” called the Lion with a low, deep growl. “Give the Wizard time
to think.”

“He has plenty of time,” said Scraps. “What he needs is the Scarecrow’s
brains.”

After all, it was little Dorothy who came to their rescue, and her
ability to save them was almost as much a surprise to the girl as it
was to her friends. Dorothy had been secretly testing the powers of her
Magic Belt, which she had once captured from the Nome King, and
experimenting with it in various ways ever since she had started on
this eventful journey. At different times she had stolen away from the
others of her party and in solitude had tried to find out what the
Magic Belt could do and what it could not do. There were a lot of
things it could not do, she discovered, but she learned some things
about the Belt which even her girl friends did not suspect she knew.

For one thing, she had remembered that when the Nome King owned it, the
Magic Belt used to perform transformations, and by thinking hard she
had finally recalled the way in which such transformations had been
accomplished. Better than this, however, was the discovery that the
Magic Belt would grant its wearer one wish a day. All she need do was
close her right eye and wiggle her left toe and then draw a long breath
and make her wish. Yesterday she had wished in secret for a box of
caramels, and instantly found the box beside her. Today she had saved
her daily wish in case she might need it in an emergency, and the time
had now come when she must use the wish to enable her to escape with
her friends from the prison in which Ugu had caught them.

So without telling anyone what she intended to do—for she had only used
the wish once and could not be certain how powerful the Magic Belt
might be—Dorothy closed her right eye and wiggled her left big toe and
drew a long breath and wished with all her might. The next moment the
room began to revolve again, as slowly as before, and by degrees they
all slid to the side wall and down the wall to the floor—all but
Scraps, who was so astonished that she still clung to the chandelier.
When the big hall was in its proper position again and the others stood
firmly upon the floor of it, they looked far up the dome and saw the
Patchwork girl swinging from the chandelier.

“Good gracious!” cried Dorothy. “How ever will you get down?”

“Won’t the room keep turning?” asked Scraps.

“I hope not. I believe it has stopped for good,” said Princess Dorothy.

“Then stand from under, so you won’t get hurt!” shouted the Patchwork
Girl, and as soon as they had obeyed this request, she let go the
chandelier and came tumbling down heels over head and twisting and
turning in a very exciting manner. Plump! She fell on the tiled floor,
and they ran to her and rolled her and patted her into shape again.



CHAPTER 23
THE DEFIANCE OF UGU THE SHOEMAKER


The delay caused by Scraps had prevented anyone from running to the
shelves to secure the magic instruments so badly needed. Even Cayke
neglected to get her diamond-studded dishpan because she was watching
the Patchwork Girl. And now the magician had opened his trap door and
appeared in his golden cage again, frowning angrily because his
prisoners had been able to turn their upside-down prison right side up.
“Which of you has dared defy my magic?” he shouted in a terrible voice.

“It was I,” answered Dorothy calmly.

“Then I shall destroy you, for you are only an Earth girl and no
fairy,” he said, and began to mumble some magic words.

Dorothy now realized that Ugu must be treated as an enemy, so she
advanced toward the corner in which he sat, saying as she went, “I am
not afraid of you, Mr. Shoemaker, and I think you’ll be sorry, pretty
soon, that you’re such a bad man. You can’t destroy me, and I won’t
destroy you, but I’m going to punish you for your wickedness.”

Ugu laughed, a laugh that was not nice to hear, and then he waved his
hand. Dorothy was halfway across the room when suddenly a wall of glass
rose before her and stopped her progress. Through the glass she could
see the magician sneering at her because she was a weak little girl,
and this provoked her. Although the glass wall obliged her to halt, she
instantly pressed both hands to her Magic Belt and cried in a loud
voice, “Ugu the Shoemaker, by the magic virtues of the Magic Belt, I
command you to become a dove!”

The magician instantly realized he was being enchanted, for he could
feel his form changing. He struggled desperately against the
enchantment, mumbling magic words and making magic passes with his
hands. And in one way he succeeded in defeating Dorothy’s purpose, for
while his form soon changed to that of a gray dove, the dove was of an
enormous size, bigger even than Ugu had been as a man, and this feat he
had been able to accomplish before his powers of magic wholly deserted
him.

And the dove was not gentle, as doves usually are, for Ugu was terribly
enraged at the little girl’s success. His books had told him nothing of
the Nome King’s Magic Belt, the Country of the Nomes being outside the
Land of Oz. He knew, however, that he was likely to be conquered unless
he made a fierce fight, so he spread his wings and rose in the air and
flew directly toward Dorothy. The Wall of Glass had disappeared the
instant Ugu became transformed.

Dorothy had meant to command the Belt to transform the magician into a
Dove of Peace, but in her excitement she forgot to say more than
“dove,” and now Ugu was not a Dove of Peace by any means, but rather a
spiteful Dove of War. His size made his sharp beak and claws very
dangerous, but Dorothy was not afraid when he came darting toward her
with his talons outstretched and his sword-like beak open. She knew the
Magic Belt would protect its wearer from harm.

But the Frogman did not know that fact and became alarmed at the little
girl’s seeming danger. So he gave a sudden leap and leaped full upon
the back of the great dove. Then began a desperate struggle. The dove
was as strong as Ugu had been, and in size it was considerably bigger
than the Frogman. But the Frogman had eaten the zosozo, and it had made
him fully as strong as Ugu the Dove. At the first leap he bore the dove
to the floor, but the giant bird got free and began to bite and claw
the Frogman, beating him down with its great wings whenever he
attempted to rise. The thick, tough skin of the big frog was not easily
damaged, but Dorothy feared for her champion, and by again using the
transformation power of the Magic Belt, she made the dove grow small
until it was no larger than a canary bird. Ugu had not lost his
knowledge of magic when he lost his shape as a man, and he now realized
it was hopeless to oppose the power of the Magic Belt and knew that his
only hope of escape lay in instant action. So he quickly flew into the
golden jeweled dishpan he had stolen from Cayke the Cookie Cook, and as
birds can talk as well as beasts or men in the Fairyland of Oz, he
muttered the magic word that was required and wished himself in the
Country of the Quadlings, which was as far away from the wicker castle
as he believed he could get.

Our friends did not know, of course, what Ugu was about to do. They saw
the dishpan tremble an instant and then disappear, the dove
disappearing with it, and although they waited expectantly for some
minutes for the magician’s return, Ugu did not come back again. “Seems
to me,” said the Wizard in a cheerful voice, “that we have conquered
the wicked magician more quickly than we expected to.”

“Don’t say ‘we.’ Dorothy did it!” cried the Patchwork Girl, turning
three somersaults in succession and then walking around on her hands.
“Hurrah for Dorothy!”

“I thought you said you did not know how to use the magic of the Nome
King’s Belt,” said the Wizard to Dorothy.

“I didn’t know at that time,” she replied, “but afterward I remembered
how the Nome King once used the Magic Belt to enchant people and
transform ’em into ornaments and all sorts of things, so I tried some
enchantments in secret, and after a while I transformed the Sawhorse
into a potato masher and back again, and the Cowardly Lion into a
pussycat and back again, and then I knew the thing would work all
right.”

“When did you perform those enchantments?” asked the Wizard, much
surprised.

“One night when all the rest of you were asleep but Scraps, and she had
gone chasing moonbeams.”

“Well,” remarked the Wizard, “your discovery has certainly saved us a
lot of trouble, and we must all thank the Frogman, too, for making such
a good fight. The dove’s shape had Ugu’s evil disposition inside it,
and that made the monster bird dangerous.”

The Frogman was looking sad because the bird’s talons had torn his
pretty clothes, but he bowed with much dignity at this well-deserved
praise. Cayke, however, had squatted on the floor and was sobbing
bitterly. “My precious dishpan is gone!” she wailed. “Gone, just as I
had found it again!”

“Never mind,” said Trot, trying to comfort her, “it’s sure to be
SOMEWHERE, so we’ll cert’nly run across it some day.”

“Yes indeed,” added Betsy, “now that we have Ozma’s Magic Picture, we
can tell just where the Dove went with your dishpan. They all
approached the Magic Picture, and Dorothy wished it to show the
enchanted form of Ugu the Shoemaker, wherever it might be. At once
there appeared in the frame of the Picture a scene in the far Quadling
Country, where the Dove was perched disconsolately on the limb of a
tree and the jeweled dishpan lay on the ground just underneath the
limb.

“But where is the place? How far or how near?” asked Cayke anxiously.

“The Book of Records will tell us that,” answered the Wizard. So they
looked in the Great Book and read the following:

“Ugu the Magician, being transformed into a dove by Princess Dorothy of
Oz, has used the magic of the golden dishpan to carry him instantly to
the northeast corner of the Quadling Country.”

“Don’t worry, Cayke, for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman are in that
part of the country looking for Ozma, and they’ll surely find your
dishpan.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Button-Bright. “We’ve forgot all about Ozma.
Let’s find out where the magician hid her.”

Back to the Magic Picture they trooped, but when they wished to see
Ozma wherever she might be hidden, only a round black spot appeared in
the center of the canvas. “I don’t see how THAT can be Ozma!” said
Dorothy, much puzzled.

“It seems to be the best the Magic Picture can do, however,” said the
Wizard, no less surprised. “If it’s an enchantment, looks as if the
magician had transformed Ozma into a chunk of pitch.”



CHAPTER 24
THE LITTLE PINK BEAR SPEAKS TRULY


For several minutes they all stood staring at the black spot on the
canvas of the Magic Picture, wondering what it could mean. “P’r’aps
we’d better ask the little Pink Bear about Ozma,” suggested Trot.

“Pshaw!” said Button-Bright. “HE don’t know anything.”

“He never makes a mistake,” declared the King.

“He did once, surely,” said Betsy. “But perhaps he wouldn’t make a
mistake again.”

“He won’t have the chance,” grumbled the Bear King.

“We might hear what he has to say,” said Dorothy. “It won’t do any harm
to ask the Pink Bear where Ozma is.”

“I will not have him questioned,” declared the King in a surly voice.
“I do not intend to allow my little Pink Bear to be again insulted by
your foolish doubts. He never makes a mistake.”

“Didn’t he say Ozma was in that hole in the ground?” asked Betsy.

“He did, and I am certain she was there,” replied the Lavender Bear.

Scraps laughed jeeringly, and the others saw there was no use arguing
with the stubborn Bear King, who seemed to have absolute faith in his
Pink Bear. The Wizard, who knew that magical things can usually be
depended upon and that the little Pink Bear was able to answer
questions by some remarkable power of magic, thought it wise to
apologize to the Lavender Bear for the unbelief of his friends, at the
same time urging the King to consent to question the Pink Bear once
more. Cayke and the Frogman also pleaded with the big Bear, who finally
agreed, although rather ungraciously, to put the little Bear’s wisdom
to the test once more. So he sat the little one on his knee and turned
the crank, and the Wizard himself asked the questions in a very
respectful tone of voice. “Where is Ozma?” was his first query.

“Here in this room,” answered the little Pink Bear.

They all looked around the room, but of course did not see her. “In
what part of the room is she?” was the Wizard’s next question.

“In Button-Bright’s pocket,” said the little Pink Bear.

This reply amazed them all, you may be sure, and although the three
girls smiled and Scraps yelled “Hoo-ray!” in derision, the Wizard
turned to consider the matter with grave thoughtfulness. “In which one
of Button-Bright’s pockets is Ozma?” he presently inquired.

“In the left-hand jacket pocket,” said the little Pink Bear.

“The pink one has gone crazy!” exclaimed Button-Bright, staring hard at
the little bear on the big bear’s knee.

“I am not so sure of that,” declared the Wizard. “If Ozma proves to be
really in your pocket, then the little Pink Bear spoke truly when he
said Ozma was in that hole in the ground. For at that time you were
also in the hole, and after we had pulled you out of it, the little
Pink Bear said Ozma was not in the hole.”

“He never makes a mistake,” asserted the Bear King stoutly.

“Empty that pocket, Button-Bright, and let’s see what’s in it,”
requested Dorothy.

So Button-Bright laid the contents of his left jacket pocket on the
table. These proved to be a peg top, a bunch of string, a small rubber
ball and a golden peach pit. “What’s this?” asked the Wizard, picking
up the peach pit and examining it closely.

“Oh,” said the boy, “I saved that to show to the girls, and then forgot
all about it. It came out of a lonesome peach that I found in the
orchard back yonder, and which I ate while I was lost. It looks like
gold, and I never saw a peach pit like it before.”

“Nor I,” said the Wizard, “and that makes it seem suspicious.”

All heads were bent over the golden peach pit. The Wizard turned it
over several times and then took out his pocket knife and pried the pit
open. As the two halves fell apart, a pink, cloud-like haze came
pouring from the golden peach pit, almost filling the big room, and
from the haze a form took shape and settled beside them. Then, as the
haze faded away, a sweet voice said, “Thank you, my friends!” and there
before them stood their lovely girl Ruler, Ozma of Oz.

With a cry of delight, Dorothy rushed forward and embraced her. Scraps
turned gleeful flipflops all around the room. Button-Bright gave a low
whistle of astonishment. The Frogman took off his tall hat and bowed
low before the beautiful girl who had been freed from her enchantment
in so startling a manner. For a time, no sound was heard beyond the low
murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the
growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder, and he said in a tone of
triumph, “He never makes a mistake!”



CHAPTER 25
OZMA OF OZ


“It’s funny,” said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and
wagging his tail, “but I’ve found my growl at last! I am positive now
that it was the cruel magician who stole it.”

“Let’s hear your growl,” requested the Lion.

“G-r-r-r-r-r!” said Toto.

“That is fine,” declared the big beast. “It isn’t as loud or as deep as
the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl
for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?”

“I was smelling in the corner yonder,” said Toto, “when suddenly a
mouse ran out—and I growled.”

The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at
being released from the confinement of the golden peach pit, where the
magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found
or liberated.

“And only to think,” cried Dorothy, “that Button-Bright has been
carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!”

“The little Pink Bear told you,” said the Bear King, “but you wouldn’t
believe him.”

“Never mind, my dears,” said Ozma graciously, “all is well that ends
well, and you couldn’t be expected to know I was inside the peach pit.
Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for
Ugu is a bold and clever magician, and he had hidden me very securely.”

“You were in a fine peach,” said Button-Bright, “the best I ever ate.”

“The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting,” remarked the
Wizard, “but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation.”

“How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?” inquired the girl
Ruler of Oz.

Dorothy started to tell the story, and Trot helped her, and
Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried
to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important
things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it
was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened
patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and
presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures.

Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance, and she
advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised
to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was
restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from
around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink
Bear.

“Your wise answers to the questions of my friends,” said she, “helped
them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your
noble King.”

The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this
praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when
it said in its squeaky voice, “I thank Your Majesty.”

“For my part,” returned the Bear King, “I realize that you were well
worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of
service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact
images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess
that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen—not
excepting Bear Center.”

“I would like to entertain you in my palace,” returned Ozma sweetly,
“and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if
your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom.”

“As for that,” answered the King, “my kingdom causes me little worry,
and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am
glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to
care for my bears in my absence.”

“And you’ll bring the little Pink Bear?” asked Dorothy eagerly.

“Of course, my dear. I would not willingly part with him.”

They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing
all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking
whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his
ancestors. “For,” said Ozma, “I have forbidden any of my subjects
except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts,
because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu
must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort.”

“Well,” remarked Dorothy cheerfully, “a dove can’t do much in the way
of magic, anyhow, and I’m going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until
he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker.”

When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they
set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which
Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of
Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the
Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine, big boat and
was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to
the Emerald City.

The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not
end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was
but a short distance from Ozma’s home. Here the jolly ferryman was
rewarded for his labors, and then the entire party set out in a grand
procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had
been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood, and both sides
of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and
beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma’s ears heard little but cheers, and her
eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during
all the triumphal march from the lake to the city’s gates.

And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of
the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return, and all the houses
were decorated with flags and bunting, and never before were the people
so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their
girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely
that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet
the returning party, and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her
Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious
collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been
stolen from her castle. Cap’n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the
Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma’s boudoir, and the Wizard was so
light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black
bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful
wizard.

For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of
joyous festivities at the palace in honor of Ozma’s safe return. The
Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were
honored by all, much to the Bear King’s satisfaction. The Frogman
speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City, and the Shaggy Man and
Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search,
were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even
the Cookie Cook, because she was quite a stranger and Ozma’s guest, was
shown as much deference as if she had been a queen.

“All the same, Your Majesty,” said Cayke to Ozma, day after day with
tiresome repetition, “I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for
never can I be quite happy without it.”



CHAPTER 26
DOROTHY FORGIVES


The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in
the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over
its misfortunes. After a time, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came
along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the
gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and
carefully oiled his tin joints with it.

While he was thus engaged, the Scarecrow remarked, “I feel much better,
dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice, clean straw and you
stuffed me anew with it.”

“And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled,” returned the Tin
Woodman with a sigh of pleasure. “You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much
more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half
their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid
dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and
so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor
do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat
people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless
as logs of wood.”

“You speak truly,” responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw
into his breast with his padded fingers. “I often feel sorry for the
meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier
than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds
are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they
will and find a home at any place they care to perch. Their food
consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields, and their
drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a
Scarecrow or a Tin Woodman, my next choice would be to live as a bird
does.”

The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find
comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman
discovered Cayke’s dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him.
“Here is a rather pretty utensil,” he said, taking it in his tin hand
to examine it, “but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of
gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do
I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually
sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin,”
and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval.

“I cannot quite agree with you there,” replied the Scarecrow. “My straw
stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look
at, but it crunkles most delightfully when I move.”

“Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places,” said
the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel, “but you must
agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we
do with this one, which we have just found?”

“Let us carry it back to the Emerald City,” suggested the Scarecrow.
“Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in
using it that way, its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not
injure its usefulness.”

So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And after
wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the
news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to
the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token
of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the
diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was
delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in
glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma’s neck and kissed her
gratefully. Cayke’s mission was now successfully accomplished, but she
was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no
hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips.

It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie
Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot
and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the
girl’s feet.

“I am Ugu the Shoemaker,” said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, “and
I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in
stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others.”

“Are you sorry, then?” asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird.

“I am VERY sorry,” declared Ugu. “I’ve been thinking over my misdeeds
for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I’m
surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the
rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in
making myself ruler of all Oz, I should not have been happy, for many
days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires
honestly are able to render one content.”

“I guess that’s so,” said Trot.

“Anyhow,” said Betsy, “the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now
become a good and honest man, we ought to forgive him.”

“I fear I cannot become a good MAN again,” said Ugu, “for the
transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove.
But with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a
very good dove and highly respected.”

“Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt,” said Dorothy, “and I’ll
transform you back to your reg’lar shape in a jiffy.”

“No, don’t do that!” pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an
excited way. “I only want your forgiveness. I don’t want to be a man
again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely. As a
dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel,
while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple
life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird,
and I’d rather not change back.”

“Just as you like, Ugu,” said Dorothy, resuming her seat. “Perhaps you
are right, for you’re certainly a better dove than you were a man, and
if you should ever backslide an’ feel wicked again, you couldn’t do
much harm as a gray dove.”

“Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?” he asked
earnestly.

“Of course. Anyone who’s sorry just has to be forgiven.”

“Thank you,” said the gray dove, and flew away again.

THE END

The Wonderful Oz Books by L. Frank Baum

The Wizard of Oz
The Land of Oz
Ozma of Oz
Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz
The Road to Oz
The Emerald City of Oz
The Patchwork Girl of Oz
Tik-Tok of Oz
The Scarecrow of Oz
Rinkitink in Oz
The Lost Princess of Oz
The Tin Woodman of Oz
The Magic of Oz
Glinda of Oz





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