The Marvelous Land of Oz 1The Marvelous Land of Oz (part 1)
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Literature · Fantasy
The Marvelous Land of Oz 1
The Marvelous Land of Oz (part 1)
BaumEnglish
The Marvelous Land of Oz
by L. Frank Baum
Author’s Note
After the publication of “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ” I began to receive letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading the story and asking me to “write something more” about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. At first I considered these little letters, frank and earnest though they were, in the light of pretty compliments; but the letters continued to come during succeeding months, and even years.
Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me and prefer her request,—and she is a “Dorothy,” by the way—that when a thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman I would write the book, Either little Dorothy was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or the success of the stage production of “The Wizard of OZ” made new friends for the story, For the thousand letters reached their destination long since—and many more followed them.
And now, although pleading guilty to long delay, I have kept my promise in this book.
L. FRANK BAUM.
Chicago, June, 1904
To those excellent good fellows and comedians David C. Montgomery and Frank A. Stone whose clever personations of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow have delighted thousands of children throughout the land, this book is gratefully dedicated by THE AUTHOR
LIST OF CHAPTERS
Tip Manufactures Pumpkinhead
The Marvelous Powder of Life
The Flight of the Fugitives
Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic
The Awakening of the Saw-horse
Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride to the Emerald City
His Majesty the Scarecrow
Gen. Jinjur’s Army of Revolt
The Scarecrow Plans an escape
The Journey to the Tin Woodman
A Nickel-Plated Emperor
Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.
A Highly Magnified History
Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft
The Prisoners of the Queen
The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think
The Astonishing Flight of the Gump
In the Jackdaw’s Nest
Dr. Nikidik’s Famous Wishing Pills
The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good
The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose
The Transformation of Old Mombi
Princess Ozma of Oz
The Riches of Content
Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead
In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz, lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was expected to say such a long word when “Tip” would do just as well.
This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation, I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin people had reason to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and therefore hesitated to associate with her.
Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of the Land of Oz had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip’s guardian, however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to be more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.
Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi’s especial pride.
But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would be bad for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for birds’ eggs or amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or fishing in the brooks with bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his armful of wood and carry it home. And when he was supposed to be working in the corn-fields, and the tall stalks hid him from Mombi’s view, Tip would often dig in the gopher holes, or if the mood seized him—lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by taking care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged as a boy may be.
Mombi’s curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated her shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers. But Tip frankly hated her, and took no pains to hide his feelings. Indeed, he sometimes showed less respect for the old woman than he should have done, considering she was his guardian.
There were pumpkins in Mombi’s corn-fields, lying golden red among the rows of green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that the four-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after the corn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to the stable, he took a notion to make a “Jack Lantern” and try to give the old woman a fright with it.
So he selected a fine, big pumpkin—one with a lustrous, orange-red color—and began carving it. With the point of his knife he made two round eyes, a three-cornered nose, and a mouth shaped like a new moon. The face, when completed, could not have been considered strictly beautiful; but it wore a smile so big and broad, and was so Jolly in expression, that even Tip laughed as he looked admiringly at his work.
The child had no playmates, so he did not know that boys often dig out the inside of a “pumpkin-jack,” and in the space thus made put a lighted candle to render the face more startling; but he conceived an idea of his own that promised to be quite as effective. He decided to manufacture the form of a man, who would wear this pumpkin head, and to stand it in a place where old Mombi would meet it face to face.
“And then,” said Tip to himself, with a laugh, “she’ll squeal louder than the brown pig does when I pull her tail, and shiver with fright worse than I did last year when I had the ague!”
He had plenty of time to accomplish this task, for Mombi had gone to a village—to buy groceries, she said—and it was a journey of at least two days.
So he took his axe to the forest, and selected some stout, straight saplings, which he cut down and trimmed of all their twigs and leaves. From these he would make the arms, and legs, and feet of his man. For the body he stripped a sheet of thick bark from around a big tree, and with much labor fashioned it into a cylinder of about the right size, pinning the edges together with wooden pegs. Then, whistling happily as he worked, he carefully jointed the limbs and fastened them to the body with pegs whittled into shape with his knife.
By the time this feat had been accomplished it began to grow dark, and Tip remembered he must milk the cow and feed the pigs. So he picked up his wooden man and carried it back to the house with him.
During the evening, by the light of the fire in the kitchen, Tip carefully rounded all the edges of the joints and smoothed the rough places in a neat and workmanlike manner. Then he stood the figure up against the wall and admired it. It seemed remarkably tall, even for a full-grown man; but that was a good point in a small boy’s eyes, and Tip did not object at all to the size of his creation.
Next morning, when he looked at his work again, Tip saw he had forgotten to give the dummy a neck, by means of which he might fasten the pumpkinhead to the body. So he went again to the forest, which was not far away, and chopped from a tree several pieces of wood with which to complete his work. When he returned he fastened a cross-piece to the upper end of the body, making a hole through the center to hold upright the neck. The bit of wood which formed this neck was also sharpened at the upper end, and when all was ready Tip put on the pumpkin head, pressing it well down onto the neck, and found that it fitted very well. The head could be turned to one side or the other, as he pleased, and the hinges of the arms and legs allowed him to place the dummy in any position he desired.
“Now, that,” declared Tip, proudly, “is really a very fine man, and it ought to frighten several screeches out of old Mombi! But it would be much more lifelike if it were properly dressed.”
To find clothing seemed no easy task; but Tip boldly ransacked the great chest in which Mombi kept all her keepsakes and treasures, and at the very bottom he discovered some purple trousers, a red shirt and a pink vest which was dotted with white spots. These he carried away to his man and succeeded, although the garments did not fit very well, in dressing the creature in a jaunty fashion. Some knit stockings belonging to Mombi and a much worn pair of his own shoes completed the man’s apparel, and Tip was so delighted that he danced up and down and laughed aloud in boyish ecstacy.
“I must give him a name!” he cried. “So good a man as this must surely have a name. I believe,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “I will name the fellow ‘Jack Pumpkinhead!’”
The Marvelous Powder of Life
After considering the matter carefully, Tip decided that the best place to locate Jack would be at the bend in the road, a little way from the house. So he started to carry his man there, but found him heavy and rather awkward to handle. After dragging the creature a short distance Tip stood him on his feet, and by first bending the joints of one leg, and then those of the other, at the same time pushing from behind, the boy managed to induce Jack to walk to the bend in the road. It was not accomplished without a few tumbles, and Tip really worked harder than he ever had in the fields or forest; but a love of mischief urged him on, and it pleased him to test the cleverness of his workmanship.
“Jack’s all right, and works fine!” he said to himself, panting with the unusual exertion. But just then he discovered the man’s left arm had fallen off in the journey so he went back to find it, and afterward, by whittling a new and stouter pin for the shoulder-joint, he repaired the injury so successfully that the arm was stronger than before. Tip also noticed that Jack’s pumpkin head had twisted around until it faced his back; but this was easily remedied. When, at last, the man was set up facing the turn in the path where old Mombi was to appear, he looked natural enough to be a fair imitation of a Gillikin farmer,—and unnatural enough to startle anyone that came on him unawares.
As it was yet too early in the day to expect the old woman to return home, Tip went down into the valley below the farm-house and began to gather nuts from the trees that grew there.
However, old Mombi returned earlier than usual. She had met a crooked wizard who resided in a lonely cave in the mountains, and had traded several important secrets of magic with him. Having in this way secured three new recipes, four magical powders and a selection of herbs of wonderful power and potency, she hobbled home as fast as she could, in order to test her new sorceries.
So intent was Mombi on the treasures she had gained that when she turned the bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the man, she merely nodded and said:
“Good evening, sir.”
But, a moment after, noting that the person did not move or reply, she cast a shrewd glance into his face and discovered his pumpkin head elaborately carved by Tip’s jack-knife.
“Heh!” ejaculated Mombi, giving a sort of grunt; “that rascally boy has been playing tricks again! Very good! ve—ry good! I’ll beat him black-and-blue for trying to scare me in this fashion!”
Angrily she raised her stick to smash in the grinning pumpkin head of the dummy; but a sudden thought made her pause, the uplifted stick left motionless in the air.
“Why, here is a good chance to try my new powder!” said she, eagerly. “And then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded secrets, or whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him.”
So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the precious powders she had obtained.
While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full of nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and apparently not the least bit frightened by it.
At first he was generally disappointed; but the next moment he became curious to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge, where he could see without being seen, and prepared to watch.
After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepper-box, upon the faded label of which the wizard had written with a lead-pencil:
“Powder of Life.”
“Ah—here it is!” she cried, joyfully. “And now let us see if it is potent. The stingy wizard didn’t give me much of it, but I guess there’s enough for two or three doses.”
Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old Mombi raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the pumpkin head of his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would pepper a baked potato, and the powder sifted down from Jack’s head and scattered over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip had dressed him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn shoes.
Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her left hand, with its little finger pointed upward, and said:
“Weaugh!”
Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and said:
“Teaugh!”
Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and cried:
“Peaugh!”
Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a reproachful voice:
“Don’t yell like that! Do you think I’m deaf?”
Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.
“He lives!” she screamed: “He lives! he lives!”
Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down; and she hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig; and all the time she repeated, rapturously:
“He lives!—he lives!—he lives!”
Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.
At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away, but his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn’t. Then it struck him as a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially as the expression on his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it excited laughter on the instant. So, recovering from his first fear, Tip began to laugh; and the merry peals reached old Mombi’s ears and made her hobble quickly to the hedge, where she seized Tip’s collar and dragged him back to where she had left her basket and the pumpkinheaded man.
“You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!” she exclaimed, furiously: “I’ll teach you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!”
“I wasn’t making fun of you,” protested Tip. “I was laughing at old Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn’t he a picture, though?”
“I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance,” said Jack; and it was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued to wear its jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.
Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had brought to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently asked:
“What do you know?”
“Well, that is hard to tell,” replied Jack. “For although I feel that I know a tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the world to find out about. It will take me a little time to discover whether I am very wise or very foolish.”
“To be sure,” said Mombi, thoughtfully.
“But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?” asked Tip, wondering.
“I must think it over,” answered Mombi. “But we must get home at once, for it is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk.”
“Never mind me,” said Jack; “I can walk as well as you can. Haven’t I got legs and feet, and aren’t they jointed?”
“Are they?” asked the woman, turning to Tip.
“Of course they are; I made ’em myself,” returned the boy, with pride.
So they started for the house, but when they reached the farm yard old Mombi led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty stall, fastening the door securely on the outside.
“I’ve got to attend to you, first,” she said, nodding her head at Tip.
Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he knew Mombi had a bad and revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any evil thing.
They entered the house. It was a round, domeshaped structure, as are nearly all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.
Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a cupboard and hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was afraid of her.
After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in the hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her supper. When the flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked a share of the bread and cheese; but Mombi refused him.
“I’m hungry!” said Tip, in a sulky tone.
“You won’t be hungry long,” replied Mombi, with a grim look.
The boy didn’t like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he happened to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of those and ate them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her apron, and hung above the fire a small black kettle.
Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them into the kettle. Next she produced several packets of herbs and powders and began adding a portion of each to the contents of the kettle. Occasionally she would draw near the candle and read from a yellow paper the recipe of the mess she was concocting.
As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.
“What is that for?” he asked.
“For you,” returned Mombi, briefly.
Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle, which was beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and wrinkled features of the witch and wish he were any place but in that dim and smoky kitchen, where even the shadows cast by the candle upon the wall were enough to give one the horrors. So an hour passed away, during which the silence was only broken by the bubbling of the pot and the hissing of the flames.
Finally, Tip spoke again.
“Have I got to drink that stuff?” he asked, nodding toward the pot.
“Yes,” said Mombi.
“What’ll it do to me?” asked Tip.
“If it’s properly made,” replied Mombi, “it will change or transform you into a marble statue.”
Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.
“I don’t want to be a marble statue!” he protested.
“That doesn’t matter I want you to be one,” said the old woman, looking at him severely.
“What use’ll I be then?” asked Tip. “There won’t be any one to work for you.”
“I’ll make the Pumpkinhead work for me,” said Mombi.
Again Tip groaned.
“Why don’t you change me into a goat, or a chicken?” he asked, anxiously. “You can’t do anything with a marble statue.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” returned Mombi. “I’m going to plant a flower garden, next Spring, and I’ll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I wonder I haven’t thought of that before; you’ve been a bother to me for years.”
At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all over his body, but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at the kettle.
“Perhaps it won’t work,” he mutttered, in a voice that sounded weak and discouraged.
“Oh, I think it will,” answered Mombi, cheerfully. “I seldom make a mistake.”
Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that when Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to midnight.
“You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold,” announced the old witch for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practising witchcraft. “We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call you and at once complete your transformation into a marble statue.”
With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with her, and Tip heard her close and lock the door.
The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still sat glaring at the embers of the dying fire.
The Flight of the Fugitives
Tip reflected.
“It’s a hard thing, to be a marble statue,” he thought, rebelliously, “and I’m not going to stand it. For years I’ve been a bother to her, she says; so she’s going to get rid of me. Well, there’s an easier way than to become a statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in the middle of a flower garden! I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do—and I may as well go before she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the kettle.” He waited until the snores of the old witch announced she was fast asleep, and then he arose softly and went to the cupboard to find something to eat.
“No use starting on a journey without food,” he decided, searching upon the narrow shelves.
He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi’s basket to find the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over the contents of the basket he came upon the pepper-box which contained the “Powder of Life.”
“I may as well take this with me,” he thought, “or Mombi’ll be using it to make more mischief with.” So he put the box in his pocket, together with the bread and cheese.
Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him. Outside both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed peaceful and inviting after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.
“I’ll be glad to get away,” said Tip, softly; “for I never did like that old woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her.”
He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.
“I don’t like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old Mombi,” he muttered. “And Jack belongs to me, for I made him even if the old witch did bring him to life.”
He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the stall where the pumpkin-headed man had been left.
Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip could see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.
“Come on!” said the boy, beckoning.
“Where to?” asked Jack.
“You’ll know as soon as I do,” answered Tip, smiling sympathetically into the pumpkin face.
“All we’ve got to do now is to tramp.”
“Very well,” returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and into the moonlight.
Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a sort of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn backward, instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the Pumpkinhead was quick to notice this, and began to take more pains to step carefully; so that he met with few accidents.
Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not go very fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank away and the sun peeped over the hills they had travelled so great a distance that the boy had no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch. Moreover, he had turned first into one path, and then into another, so that should anyone follow them it would prove very difficult to guess which way they had gone, or where to seek them.
Fairly satisfied that he had escaped—for a time, at least—being turned into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated himself upon a rock by the roadside.
“Let’s have some breakfast,” he said.
Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the repast. “I don’t seem to be made the same way you are,” he said.
“I know you are not,” returned Tip; “for I made you.”
“Oh! Did you?” asked Jack.
“Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and ears and mouth,” said Tip proudly. “And dressed you.”
Jack looked at his body and limbs critically.
“It strikes me you made a very good job of it,” he remarked.
“Just so-so,” replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain defects in the construction of his man. “If I’d known we were going to travel together I might have been a little more particular.”
“Why, then,” said the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise, “you must be my creator my parent my father!”
“Or your inventor,” replied the boy with a laugh. “Yes, my son; I really believe I am!”
“Then I owe you obedience,” continued the man, “and you owe me—support.”
“That’s it, exactly”, declared Tip, jumping up. “So let us be off.”
“Where are we going?” asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.
“I’m not exactly sure,” said the boy; “but I believe we are headed South, and that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City.”
“What city is that?” enquired the Pumpkinhead.
“Why, it’s the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all the country. I’ve never been there, myself, but I’ve heard all about its history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz, and everything there is of a green color—just as everything in this Country of the Gillikins is of a purple color.”
“Is everything here purple?” asked Jack.
“Of course it is. Can’t you see?” returned the boy.
“I believe I must be color-blind,” said the Pumpkinhead, after staring about him.
“Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses and fences are purple,” explained Tip. “Even the mud in the roads is purple. But in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple here. And in the Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything is blue; and in the South country of the Quadlings everything is red; and in the West country of the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules, everything is yellow.”
“Oh!” said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Did you say a Tin Woodman rules the Winkies?”
“Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited him to become their ruler,—just as the people of the Emerald City invited the Scarecrow to rule them.”
“Dear me!” said Jack. “I’m getting confused with all this history. Who is the Scarecrow?”
“Another friend of Dorothy’s,” replied Tip.
“And who is Dorothy?”
“She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside World. She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was here the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels.”
“And where is she now?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.
“Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again,” said the boy.
“Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?”
“I told you. He rules the Emerald City,” answered Tip.
“I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard,” objected Jack, seeming more and more confused.
“Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I’ll explain it,” said Tip, speaking slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the eye. “Dorothy went to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her back to Kansas; and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her. But the Wizard couldn’t send her back, because he wasn’t so much of a Wizard as he might have been. And then they got angry at the Wizard, and threatened to expose him; so the Wizard made a big balloon and escaped in it, and no one has ever seen him since.”
“Now, that is very interesting history,” said Jack, well pleased; “and I understand it perfectly all but the explanation.”
“I’m glad you do,” responded Tip. “After the Wizard was gone, the people of the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King; and I have heard that he became a very popular ruler.”
“Are we going to see this queer King?” asked Jack, with interest.
“I think we may as well,” replied the boy; “unless you have something better to do.”
“Oh, no, dear father,” said the Pumpkinhead. “I am quite willing to go wherever you please.”
Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic
The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance seemed somewhat embarrassed at being called “father” by the tall, awkward, pumpkinheaded man, but to deny the relationship would involve another long and tedious explanation; so he changed the subject by asking, abruptly:
“Are you tired?”
“Of course not!” replied the other. “But,” he continued, after a pause, “it is quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on walking.”
Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to regret that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and substantially. Yet how could he ever have guessed that the man he had made merely to scare old Mombi with would be brought to life by means of a magical powder contained in an old pepper-box?
So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet remedy the deficiencies of Jack’s weak joints.
While thus engaged they came to the edge of a wood, and the boy sat down to rest upon an old sawhorse that some woodcutter had left there.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.
“Won’t it strain my joints?” inquired the other.
“Of course not. It’ll rest them,” declared the boy.
So Jack tried to sit down; but as soon as he bent his joints farther than usual they gave way altogether, and he came clattering to the ground with such a crash that Tip feared he was entirely ruined.
He rushed to the man, lifted him to his feet, straightened his arms and legs, and felt of his head to see if by chance it had become cracked. But Jack seemed to be in pretty good shape, after all, and Tip said to him:
“I guess you’d better remain standing, hereafter. It seems the safest way.”
“Very well, dear father.” just as you say, replied the smiling Jack, who had been in no wise confused by his tumble.
Tip sat down again. Presently the Pumpkinhead asked:
“What is that thing you are sitting on?”
“Oh, this is a horse,” replied the boy, carelessly.
“What is a horse?” demanded Jack.
“A horse? Why, there are two kinds of horses,” returned Tip, slightly puzzled how to explain. “One kind of horse is alive, and has four legs and a head and a tail. And people ride upon its back.”
“I understand,” said Jack, cheerfully “That’s the kind of horse you are now sitting on.”
“No, it isn’t,” answered Tip, promptly.
“Why not? That one has four legs, and a head, and a tail.” Tip looked at the saw-horse more carefully, and found that the Pumpkinhead was right. The body had been formed from a tree-trunk, and a branch had been left sticking up at one end that looked very much like a tail. In the other end were two big knots that resembled eyes, and a place had been chopped away that might easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth. As for the legs, they were four straight limbs cut from trees and stuck fast into the body, being spread wide apart so that the saw-horse would stand firmly when a log was laid across it to be sawed.
“This thing resembles a real horse more than I imagined,” said Tip, trying to explain. “But a real horse is alive, and trots and prances and eats oats, while this is nothing more than a dead horse, made of wood, and used to saw logs upon.”
“If it were alive, wouldn’t it trot, and prance, and eat oats?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.
“It would trot and prance, perhaps; but it wouldn’t eat oats,” replied the boy, laughing at the idea. “And of course it can’t ever be alive, because it is made of wood.”
“So am I,” answered the man.
Tip looked at him in surprise.
“Why, so you are!” he exclaimed. “And the magic powder that brought you to life is here in my pocket.”
He brought out the pepper box, and eyed it curiously.
“I wonder,” said he, musingly, “if it would bring the saw-horse to life.”
“If it would,” returned Jack, calmly for nothing seemed to surprise him “I could ride on its back, and that would save my joints from wearing out.”
“I’ll try it!” cried the boy, jumping up. “But I wonder if I can remember the words old Mombi said, and the way she held her hands up.”
He thought it over for a minute, and as he had watched carefully from the hedge every motion of the old witch, and listened to her words, he believed he could repeat exactly what she had said and done.
So he began by sprinkling some of the magic Powder of Life from the pepper-box upon the body of the saw-horse. Then he lifted his left hand, with the little finger pointing upward, and said: “Weaugh!”
“What does that mean, dear father?” asked Jack, curiously.
“I don’t know,” answered Tip. Then he lifted his right hand, with the thumb pointing upward and said: “Teaugh!”
“What’s that, dear father?” inquired Jack.
“It means you must keep quiet!” replied the boy, provoked at being interrupted at so important a moment.
“How fast I am learning!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with his eternal smile.
Tip now lifted both hands above his head, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and cried in a loud voice: “Peaugh!”
Immediately the saw-horse moved, stretched its legs, yawned with its chopped-out mouth, and shook a few grains of the powder off its back. The rest of the powder seemed to have vanished into the body of the horse.
“Good!” called Jack, while the boy looked on in astonishment. “You are a very clever sorcerer, dear father!”
The Awakening of the Saw-horse
The Saw-Horse, finding himself alive, seemed even more astonished than Tip. He rolled his knotty eyes from side to side, taking a first wondering view of the world in which he had now so important an existence. Then he tried to look at himself; but he had, indeed, no neck to turn; so that in the endeavor to see his body he kept circling around and around, without catching even a glimpse of it. His legs were stiff and awkward, for there were no knee-joints in them; so that presently he bumped against Jack Pumpkinhead and sent that personage tumbling upon the moss that lined the roadside.
Tip became alarmed at this accident, as well as at the persistence of the Saw-Horse in prancing around in a circle; so he called out:
“Whoa! Whoa, there!”
The Saw-Horse paid no attention whatever to this command, and the next instant brought one of his wooden legs down upon Tip’s foot so forcibly that the boy danced away in pain to a safer distance, from where he again yelled:
“Whoa! Whoa, I say!”
Jack had now managed to raise himself to a sitting position, and he looked at the Saw-Horse with much interest.
“I don’t believe the animal can hear you,” he remarked.
“Yes; but the horse has no ears,” said the smiling Pumpkinhead.
“Sure enough!” exclaimed Tip, noting the fact for the first time. “How, then, am I going to stop him?”
But at that instant the Saw-Horse stopped himself, having concluded it was impossible to see his own body. He saw Tip, however, and came close to the boy to observe him more fully.
It was really comical to see the creature walk; for it moved the legs on its right side together, and those on its left side together, as a pacing horse does; and that made its body rock sidewise, like a cradle.
Tip patted it upon the head, and said “Good boy! Good Boy!” in a coaxing tone; and the Saw-Horse pranced away to examine with its bulging eyes the form of Jack Pumpkinhead.
“I must find a halter for him,” said Tip; and having made a search in his pocket he produced a roll of strong cord. Unwinding this, he approached the Saw-Horse and tied the cord around its neck, afterward fastening the other end to a large tree. The Saw-Horse, not understanding the action, stepped backward and snapped the string easily; but it made no attempt to run away.
“He’s stronger than I thought,” said the boy, “and rather obstinate, too.”
“Why don’t you make him some ears?” asked Jack. “Then you can tell him what to do.”
“That’s a splendid idea!” said Tip. “How did you happen to think of it?”
“Why, I didn’t think of it,” answered the Pumpkinhead; “I didn’t need to, for it’s the simplest and easiest thing to do.”
So Tip got out his knife and fashioned some ears out of the bark of a small tree.
“I mustn’t make them too big,” he said, as he whittled, “or our horse would become a donkey.”
“How is that?” inquired Jack, from the roadside.
“Why, a horse has bigger ears than a man; and a donkey has bigger ears than a horse,” explained Tip.
“Then, if my ears were longer, would I be a horse?” asked Jack.
“My friend,” said Tip, gravely, “you’ll never be anything but a Pumpkinhead, no matter how big your ears are.”
“Oh,” returned Jack, nodding; “I think I understand.”
“If you do, you’re a wonder,” remarked the boy “but there’s no harm in thinking you understand. I guess these ears are ready now. Will you hold the horse while I stick them on?”
“Certainly, if you’ll help me up,” said Jack.
So Tip raised him to his feet, and the Pumpkinhead went to the horse and held its head while the boy bored two holes in it with his knife-blade and inserted the ears.
“They make him look very handsome,” said Jack, admiringly.
But those words, spoken close to the Saw-Horse, and being the first sounds he had ever heard, so startled the animal that he made a bound forward and tumbled Tip on one side and Jack on the other. Then he continued to rush forward as if frightened by the clatter of his own foot-steps.
“Whoa!” shouted Tip, picking himself up; “whoa! you idiot whoa!” The Saw-Horse would probably have paid no attention to this, but just then it stepped a leg into a gopher-hole and stumbled head-over-heels to the ground, where it lay upon its back, frantically waving its four legs in the air.
Tip ran up to it.
“You’re a nice sort of a horse, I must say!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you stop when I yelled ‘whoa?’”
“Does ‘whoa’ mean to stop?” asked the Saw-Horse, in a surprised voice, as it rolled its eyes upward to look at the boy.
“Of course it does,” answered Tip.
“And a hole in the ground means to stop, also, doesn’t it?” continued the horse.
“To be sure; unless you step over it,” said Tip.
“What a strange place this is,” the creature exclaimed, as if amazed. “What am I doing here, anyway?”
“Why, I’ve brought you to life,” answered the boy “but it won’t hurt you any, if you mind me and do as I tell you.”
“Then I will do as you tell me,” replied the Saw-Horse, humbly. “But what happened to me, a moment ago? I don’t seem to be just right, someway.”
“You’re upside down,” explained Tip. “But just keep those legs still a minute and I’ll set you right side up again.”
“How many sides have I?” asked the creature, wonderingly.
“Several,” said Tip, briefly. “But do keep those legs still.”
The Saw-Horse now became quiet, and held its legs rigid; so that Tip, after several efforts, was able to roll him over and set him upright.
“Ah, I seem all right now,” said the queer animal, with a sigh.
“One of your ears is broken,” Tip announced, after a careful examination. “I’ll have to make a new one.”
Then he led the Saw-Horse back to where Jack was vainly struggling to regain his feet, and after assisting the Pumpkinhead to stand upright Tip whittled out a new ear and fastened it to the horse’s head.
“Now,” said he, addressing his steed, “pay attention to what I’m going to tell you. ‘Whoa!’ means to stop; ‘Get-Up!’ means to walk forward; ‘Trot!’ means to go as fast as you can. Understand?”
“I believe I do,” returned the horse.
“Very good. We are all going on a journey to the Emerald City, to see His Majesty, the Scarecrow; and Jack Pumpkinhead is going to ride on your back, so he won’t wear out his joints.”
“I don’t mind,” said the Saw-Horse. “Anything that suits you suits me.”
Then Tip assisted Jack to get upon the horse.
“Hold on tight,” he cautioned, “or you may fall off and crack your pumpkin head.”
“That would be horrible!” said Jack, with a shudder. “What shall I hold on to?”
“Why, hold on to his ears,” replied Tip, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Don’t do that!” remonstrated the Saw-Horse; “for then I can’t hear.”
That seemed reasonable, so Tip tried to think of something else.
“I’ll fix it!” said he, at length. He went into the wood and cut a short length of limb from a young, stout tree. One end of this he sharpened to a point, and then he dug a hole in the back of the Saw-Horse, just behind its head. Next he brought a piece of rock from the road and hammered the post firmly into the animal’s back.
“Stop! Stop!” shouted the horse; “you’re jarring me terribly.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the boy.
“Not exactly hurt,” answered the animal; “but it makes me quite nervous to be jarred.”
“Well, it’s all over now” said Tip, encouragingly. “Now, Jack, be sure to hold fast to this post and then you can’t fall off and get smashed.”
So Jack held on tight, and Tip said to the horse:
“Get up.”
The obedient creature at once walked forward, rocking from side to side as he raised his feet from the ground.
Tip walked beside the Saw-Horse, quite content with this addition to their party. Presently he began to whistle.
“What does that sound mean?” asked the horse.
“Don’t pay any attention to it,” said Tip. “I’m just whistling, and that only means I’m pretty well satisfied.”
“I’d whistle myself, if I could push my lips together,” remarked Jack. “I fear, dear father, that in some respects I am sadly lacking.”
After journeying on for some distance the narrow path they were following turned into a broad roadway, paved with yellow brick. By the side of the road Tip noticed a sign-post that read:
“NINE MILES TO THE EMERALD CITY.”
But it was now growing dark, so he decided to camp for the night by the roadside and to resume the journey next morning by daybreak. He led the Saw-Horse to a grassy mound upon which grew several bushy trees, and carefully assisted the Pumpkinhead to alight.
“I think I’ll lay you upon the ground, overnight,” said the boy. “You will be safer that way.”
“How about me?” asked the Saw-Horse.
“It won’t hurt you to stand,” replied Tip; “and, as you can’t sleep, you may as well watch out and see that no one comes near to disturb us.”
Then the boy stretched himself upon the grass beside the Pumpkinhead, and being greatly wearied by the journey was soon fast asleep.
Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride to the Emerald City
At daybreak Tip was awakened by the Pumpkinhead. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bathed in a little brook, and then ate a portion of his bread and cheese. Having thus prepared for a new day the boy said:
“Let us start at once. Nine miles is quite a distance, but we ought to reach the Emerald City by noon if no accidents happen.” So the Pumpkinhead was again perched upon the back of the Saw-Horse and the journey was resumed.
Tip noticed that the purple tint of the grass and trees had now faded to a dull lavender, and before long this lavender appeared to take on a greenish tinge that gradually brightened as they drew nearer to the great City where the Scarecrow ruled.
The little party had traveled but a short two miles upon their way when the road of yellow brick was parted by a broad and swift river. Tip was puzzled how to cross over; but after a time he discovered a man in a ferry-boat approaching from the other side of the stream.
When the man reached the bank Tip asked:
“Will you row us to the other side?”
“Yes, if you have money,” returned the ferryman, whose face looked cross and disagreeable.
“But I have no money,” said Tip.
“None at all?” inquired the man.
“None at all,” answered the boy.
“Then I’ll not break my back rowing you over,” said the ferryman, decidedly.
“What a nice man!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, smilingly.
The ferryman stared at him, but made no reply. Tip was trying to think, for it was a great disappointment to him to find his journey so suddenly brought to an end.
“I must certainly get to the Emerald City,” he said to the boatman; “but how can I cross the river if you do not take me?”
The man laughed, and it was not a nice laugh.
“That wooden horse will float,” said he; “and you can ride him across. As for the pumpkinheaded loon who accompanies you, let him sink or swim it won’t matter greatly which.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Jack, smiling pleasantly upon the crabbed ferryman; “I’m sure I ought to float beautifully.”
Tip thought the experiment was worth making, and the Saw-Horse, who did not know what danger meant, offered no objections whatever. So the boy led it down into the water and climbed upon its back. Jack also waded in up to his knees and grasped the tail of the horse so that he might keep his pumpkin head above the water.
“Now,” said Tip, instructing the Saw-Horse, “if you wiggle your legs you will probably swim; and if you swim we shall probably reach the other side.”
The Saw-Horse at once began to wiggle its legs, which acted as oars and moved the adventurers slowly across the river to the opposite side. So successful was the trip that presently they were climbing, wet and dripping, up the grassy bank.
Tip’s trouser-legs and shoes were thoroughly soaked; but the Saw-Horse had floated so perfectly that from his knees up the boy was entirely dry. As for the Pumpkinhead, every stitch of his gorgeous clothing dripped water.
“The sun will soon dry us,” said Tip “and, anyhow, we are now safely across, in spite of the ferryman, and can continue our journey.”
“I didn’t mind swimming, at all,” remarked the horse.
“Nor did I,” added Jack.
They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a continuation of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip once more mounted the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Saw-Horse.
“If you ride fast,” said he, “the wind will help to dry your clothing. I will hold on to the horse’s tail and run after you. In this way we all will become dry in a very short time.”
“Then the horse must step lively,” said Jack.
“I’ll do my best,” returned the Saw-Horse, cheerfully.
Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the Saw-Horse, and called loudly: “Get-up!”
The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he decided they could go faster, so he shouted: “Trot!”
Now, the Saw-Horse remembered that this word was the command to go as fast as he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous pace, and Tip had hard work—running faster than he ever had before in his life—to keep his feet.
Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call “Whoa!” to the horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then the end of the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead branch, suddenly broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in the dust of the road, while the horse and its pumpkin-headed rider dashed on and quickly disappeared in the distance.
By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his throat so he could say “Whoa!” there was no further need of saying it, for the horse was long since out of sight.
So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a good rest, and afterward began walking along the road.
“Some time I will surely overtake them,” he reflected; “for the road will end at the gates of the Emerald City, and they can go no further than that.”
Meantime Jack was holding fast to the post and the Saw-Horse was tearing along the road like a racer. Neither of them knew Tip was left behind, for the Pumpkinhead did not look around and the Saw-Horse couldn’t.
As he rode, Jack noticed that the grass and trees had become a bright emerald-green in color, so he guessed they were nearing the Emerald City even before the tall spires and domes came into sight.
At length a high wall of green stone, studded thick with emeralds, loomed up before them; and fearing the Saw-Horse would not know enough to stop and so might smash them both against this wall, Jack ventured to cry “Whoa!” as loud as he could.
So suddenly did the horse obey that had it not been for his post Jack would have been pitched off head foremost, and his beautiful face ruined.
“That was a fast ride, dear father!” he exclaimed; and then, hearing no reply, he turned around and discovered for the first time that Tip was not there.
This apparent desertion puzzled the Pumpkinhead, and made him uneasy. And while he was wondering what had become of the boy, and what he ought to do next under such trying circumstances, the gateway in the green wall opened and a man came out.
This man was short and round, with a fat face that seemed remarkably good-natured. He was clothed all in green and wore a high, peaked green hat upon his head and green spectacles over his eyes. Bowing before the Pumpkinhead he said:
“I am the Guardian of the Gates of the Emerald City. May I inquire who you are, and what is your business?”
“My name is Jack Pumpkinhead,” returned the other, smilingly; “but as to my business, I haven’t the least idea in the world what it is.”
The Guardian of the Gates looked surprised, and shook his head as if dissatisfied with the reply.
“What are you, a man or a pumpkin?” he asked, politely.
“Both, if you please,” answered Jack.
“And this wooden horse—is it alive?” questioned the Guardian.
The horse rolled one knotty eye upward and winked at Jack. Then it gave a prance and brought one leg down on the Guardian’s toes.
“Ouch!” cried the man; “I’m sorry I asked that question. But the answer is most convincing. Have you any errand, sir, in the Emerald City?”
“It seems to me that I have,” replied the Pumpkinhead, seriously; “but I cannot think what it is. My father knows all about it, but he is not here.”
“This is a strange affair very strange!” declared the Guardian. “But you seem harmless. Folks do not smile so delightfully when they mean mischief.”
“As for that,” said Jack, “I cannot help my smile, for it is carved on my face with a jack-knife.”
“Well, come with me into my room,” resumed the Guardian, “and I will see what can be done for you.”
So Jack rode the Saw-Horse through the gateway into a little room built into the wall. The Guardian pulled a bell-cord, and presently a very tall soldier—clothed in a green uniform—entered from the opposite door. This soldier carried a long green gun over his shoulder and had lovely green whiskers that fell quite to his knees. The Guardian at once addressed him, saying:
“Here is a strange gentleman who doesn’t know why he has come to the Emerald City, or what he wants. Tell me, what shall we do with him?”
The Soldier with the Green Whiskers looked at Jack with much care and curiosity. Finally he shook his head so positively that little waves rippled down his whiskers, and then he said:
“I must take him to His Majesty, the Scarecrow.”
“But what will His Majesty, the Scarecrow, do with him?” asked the Guardian of the Gates.
“That is His Majesty’s business,” returned the soldier. “I have troubles enough of my own. All outside troubles must be turned over to His Majesty. So put the spectacles on this fellow, and I’ll take him to the royal palace.”
So the Guardian opened a big box of spectacles and tried to fit a pair to Jack’s great round eyes.
“I haven’t a pair in stock that will really cover those eyes up,” said the little man, with a sigh; “and your head is so big that I shall be obliged to tie the spectacles on.”
“But why need I wear spectacles?” asked Jack.
“It’s the fashion here,” said the Soldier, “and they will keep you from being blinded by the glitter and glare of the gorgeous Emerald City.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “Tie them on, by all means. I don’t wish to be blinded.”
“Nor I!” broke in the Saw-Horse; so a pair of green spectacles was quickly fastened over the bulging knots that served it for eyes.
Then the Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them through the inner gate and they at once found themselves in the main street of the magnificent Emerald City.
Sparkling green gems ornamented the fronts of the beautiful houses and the towers and turrets were all faced with emeralds. Even the green marble pavement glittered with precious stones, and it was indeed a grand and marvelous sight to one who beheld it for the first time.
However, the Pumpkinhead and the Saw-Horse, knowing nothing of wealth and beauty, paid little attention to the wonderful sights they saw through their green spectacles. They calmly followed after the green soldier and scarcely noticed the crowds of green people who stared at them in surprise. When a green dog ran out and barked at them the Saw-Horse promptly kicked at it with its wooden leg and sent the little animal howling into one of the houses; but nothing more serious than this happened to interrupt their progress to the royal palace.
The Pumpkinhead wanted to ride up the green marble steps and straight into the Scarecrow’s presence; but the soldier would not permit that. So Jack dismounted, with much difficulty, and a servant led the Saw-Horse around to the rear while the Soldier with the Green Whiskers escorted the Pumpkinhead into the palace, by the front entrance.
The stranger was left in a handsomely furnished waiting room while the soldier went to announce him. It so happened that at this hour His Majesty was at leisure and greatly bored for want of something to do, so he ordered his visitor to be shown at once into his throne room.
Jack felt no fear or embarrassment at meeting the ruler of this magnificent city, for he was entirely ignorant of all worldly customs. But when he entered the room and saw for the first time His Majesty the Scarecrow seated upon his glittering throne, he stopped short in amazement.
His Majesty the Scarecrow
I suppose every reader of this book knows what a scarecrow is; but Jack Pumpkinhead, never having seen such a creation, was more surprised at meeting the remarkable King of the Emerald City than by any other one experience of his brief life.
His Majesty the Scarecrow was dressed in a suit of faded blue clothes, and his head was merely a small sack stuffed with straw, upon which eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth had been rudely painted to represent a face. The clothes were also stuffed with straw, and that so unevenly or carelessly that his Majesty’s legs and arms seemed more bumpy than was necessary. Upon his hands were gloves with long fingers, and these were padded with cotton. Wisps of straw stuck out from the monarch’s coat and also from his neck and boot-tops. Upon his head he wore a heavy golden crown set thick with sparkling jewels, and the weight of this crown caused his brow to sag in wrinkles, giving a thoughtful expression to the painted face. Indeed, the crown alone betokened majesty; in all else the, Scarecrow King was but a simple scarecrow—flimsy, awkward, and unsubstantial.
But if the strange appearance of his Majesty the Scarecrow seemed startling to Jack, no less wonderful was the form of the Pumpkinhead to the Scarecrow. The purple trousers and pink waistcoat and red shirt hung loosely over the wooden joints Tip had manufactured, and the carved face on the pumpkin grinned perpetually, as if its wearer considered life the jolliest thing imaginable.
At first, indeed, His Majesty thought his queer visitor was laughing at him, and was inclined to resent such a liberty; but it was not without reason that the Scarecrow had attained the reputation of being the wisest personage in the Land of Oz. He made a more careful examination of his visitor, and soon discovered that Jack’s features were carved into a smile and that he could not look grave if he wished to.
The King was the first to speak. After regarding Jack for some minutes he said, in a tone of wonder:
“Where on earth did you come from, and how do you happen to be alive?”
“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” returned the Pumpkinhead; “but I do not understand you.”
“What don’t you understand?” asked the Scarecrow.
“Why, I don’t understand your language. You see, I came from the Country of the Gillikins, so that I am a foreigner.”
“Ah, to be sure!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “I myself speak the language of the Munchkins, which is also the language of the Emerald City. But you, I suppose, speak the language of the Pumpkinheads?”
“Exactly so, your Majesty” replied the other, bowing; “so it will be impossible for us to understand one another.”
“That is unfortunate, certainly,” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “We must have an interpreter.”
“What is an interpreter?” asked Jack.
“A person who understands both my language and your own. When I say anything, the interpreter can tell you what I mean; and when you say anything the interpreter can tell me what you mean. For the interpreter can speak both languages as well as understand them.”
“That is certainly clever,” said Jack, greatly pleased at finding so simple a way out of the difficulty.
So the Scarecrow commanded the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to search among his people until he found one who understood the language of the Gillikins as well as the language of the Emerald City, and to bring that person to him at once.
When the Soldier had departed the Scarecrow said:
“Won’t you take a chair while we are waiting?”
“Your Majesty forgets that I cannot understand you,” replied the Pumpkinhead. “If you wish me to sit down you must make a sign for me to do so.” The Scarecrow came down from his throne and rolled an armchair to a position behind the Pumpkinhead. Then he gave Jack a sudden push that sent him sprawling upon the cushions in so awkward a fashion that he doubled up like a jackknife, and had hard work to untangle himself.
“Did you understand that sign?” asked His Majesty, politely.
“Perfectly,” declared Jack, reaching up his arms to turn his head to the front, the pumpkin having twisted around upon the stick that supported it.
“You seem hastily made,” remarked the Scarecrow, watching Jack’s efforts to straighten himself.
“Not more so than your Majesty,” was the frank reply.
“There is this difference between us,” said the Scarecrow, “that whereas I will bend, but not break, you will break, but not bend.”
At this moment the soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand. She seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful green eyes and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees, showing silk stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin slippers with bunches of lettuce for decorations instead of bows or buckles. Upon her silken waist clover leaves were embroidered, and she wore a jaunty little jacket trimmed with sparkling emeralds of a uniform size.
“Why, it’s little Jellia Jamb!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as the green maiden bowed her pretty head before him. “Do you understand the language of the Gillikins, my dear?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” she answered, “for I was born in the North Country.”
“Then you shall be our interpreter,” said the Scarecrow, “and explain to this Pumpkinhead all that I say, and also explain to me all that he says. Is this arrangement satisfactory?” he asked, turning toward his guest.
“Very satisfactory indeed,” was the reply.
“Then ask him, to begin with,” resumed the Scarecrow, turning to Jellia, “what brought him to the Emerald City”
But instead of this the girl, who had been staring at Jack, said to him:
“You are certainly a wonderful creature. Who made you?”
“A boy named Tip,” answered Jack.
“What does he say?” inquired the Scarecrow. “My ears must have deceived me. What did he say?”
“He says that your Majesty’s brains seem to have come loose,” replied the girl, demurely.
