"It will take a few minutes for this powder to do its work," remarked the Magician, sprinkling the body up and down with much care.
But suddenly the Patchwork Girl threw up one arm, which knocked the bottle of powder from the crooked man's hand and sent it flying across the room. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte were so startled that they both leaped backward and bumped together, and Unc's head joggled the shelf above them and upset the bottle containing the Liquid of Petrifaction.
The Magician uttered such a wild cry that Ojo jumped away and the Patchwork Girl sprang after him and clasped her stuffed arms around him in terror. The Glass Cat snarled and hid under the table, and so it was that when the powerful Liquid of Petrifaction was spilled it fell only upon the wife of the Magician and the uncle of Ojo. With these two the charm worked promptly. They stood motionless and stiff as marble statues, in exactly the positions they were in when the Liquid struck them.
Ojo pushed the Patchwork Girl away and ran to Unc Nunkie, filled with a terrible fear for the only friend and protector he had ever known. When he grasped Unc's hand it was cold and hard. Even the long gray beard was solid marble. The Crooked Magician was dancing around the room in a frenzy of despair, calling upon his wife to forgive him, to speak to him, to come to life again!
The Patchwork Girl, quickly recovering from her fright, now came nearer and looked from one to another of the people with deep interest. Then she looked at herself and laughed. Noticing the mirror, she stood before it and examined her extraordinary features with amazement--her button eyes, pearl bead teeth and puffy nose. Then, addressing her reflection in the glass, she exclaimed:
"Whee, but there's a gaudy dame!
Makes a paint-box blush with shame.
Razzle-dazzle, fizzle-fazzle!
Howdy-do, Miss What's-your-name?"
She bowed, and the reflection bowed. Then she laughed again, long and merrily, and the Glass Cat crept out from under the table and said:
"I don't blame you for laughing at yourself. Aren't you horrid?"
"Horrid?" she replied. "Why, I'm thoroughly delightful. I'm an Original, if you please, and therefore incomparable. Of all the comic, absurd, rare and amusing creatures the world contains, I must be the supreme freak. Who but poor Margolotte could have managed to invent such an unreasonable being as I? But I'm glad--I'm awfully glad!--that I'm just what I am, and nothing else."
"Be quiet, will you?" cried the frantic Magician; "be quiet and let me think! If I don't think I shall go mad."
"Think ahead," said the Patchwork Girl, seating herself in a chair. "Think all you want to. I don't mind."
"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune," called the phonograph, speaking through its horn in a brazen, scratchy voice. "If you don't mind, Pipt, old boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest."
The Magician looked gloomily at the music-machine.
"What dreadful luck!" he wailed, despondently. "The Powder of Life must have fallen on the phonograph."
He went up to it and found that the gold bottle that contained the precious powder had dropped upon the stand and scattered its life-giving grains over the machine. The phonograph was very much alive, and began dancing a jig with the legs of the table to which it was attached, and this dance so annoyed Dr. Pipt that he kicked the thing into a corner and pushed a bench against it, to hold it quiet.
"You were bad enough before," said the Magician, resentfully; "but a live phonograph is enough to drive every sane person in the Land of Oz stark crazy."
"No insults, please," answered the phonograph in a surly tone. "You did it, my boy; don't blame me."
"You've bungled everything, Dr. Pipt," added the Glass Cat, contemptuously.
"Except me," said the Patchwork Girl, jumping up to whirl merrily around the room.
"I think," said Ojo, almost ready to cry through grief over Unc Nunkie's sad fate, "it must all be my fault, in some way. I'm called Ojo the Unlucky, you know."
"That's nonsense, kiddie," retorted the Patchwork Girl cheerfully. "No one can be unlucky who has the intelligence to direct his own actions. The unlucky ones are those who beg for a chance to think, like poor Dr. Pipt here. What's the row about, anyway, Mr. Magic-maker?"
"The Liquid of Petrifaction has accidentally fallen upon my dear wife and Unc Nunkie and turned them into marble," he sadly replied.
"Well, why don't you sprinkle some of that powder on them and bring them to life again?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician gave a jump.
"Why, I hadn't thought of that!" he joyfully cried, and grabbed up the golden bottle, with which he ran to Margolotte.
Said the Patchwork Girl:
"Higgledy, piggledy, dee--
What fools magicians be!
His head's so thick
He can't think quick,
So he takes advice from me."
Standing upon the bench, for he was so crooked he could not reach the top of his wife's head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking the bottle. But not a grain of powder came out. He pulled off the cover, glanced within, and then threw the bottle from him with a wail of despair.
"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried. "Wasted on that miserable phonograph when it might have saved my dear wife!"
Then the Magician bowed his head on his crooked arms and began to cry.
Ojo was sorry for him. He went up to the sorrowful man and said softly:
"You can make more Powder of Life, Dr. Pipt."
"Yes; but it will take me six years--six long, weary years of stirring four kettles with both feet and both hands," was the agonized reply. "Six years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as a marble image."
"Can't anything else be done?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something and looked up.
"There is one other compound that would destroy the magic spell of the Liquid of Petrifaction and restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life," said he. "It may be hard to find the things I need to make this magic compound, but if they were found I could do in an instant what will otherwise take six long, weary years of stirring kettles with both hands and both feet."
"All right; let's find the things, then," suggested the Patchwork Girl. "That seems a lot more sensible than those stirring times with the kettles."
"That's the idea, Scraps," said the Glass Cat, approvingly. "I'm glad to find you have decent brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can see 'em work; they're pink."
"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me 'Scraps'? Is that my name?"
"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to name you 'Angeline,'" said the Magician.
"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a laugh. "It fits me better, for my patchwork is all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for naming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of your own?"
"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once gave me, but which is quite undignified for one of my importance," answered the cat. "She called me 'Bungle.'"
"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad bungle, taken all in all. I was wrong to make you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and brittle thing never before existed."
"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the cat. "I've been alive a good many years, for Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first magic Powder of Life he ever made, and so far I've never broken or cracked or chipped any part of me."
"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder," laughed the Patchwork Girl, and the cat went to the mirror to see.
"Tell me," pleaded Ojo, speaking to the Crooked Magician, "what must we find to make the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?"
"First," was the reply, "I must have a six-leaved clover. That can only be found in the green country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved clovers are very scarce, even there."
"I'll find it for you," promised Ojo.
"The next thing," continued the Magician, "is the left wing of a yellow butterfly. That color can only be found in the yellow country of the Winkies, West of the Emerald City."
"I'll find it," declared Ojo. "Is that all?"
"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see what comes next."
Saying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer of his cabinet and drew out a small book covered with blue leather. Looking through the pages he found the recipe he wanted and said: "I must have a gill of water from a dark well."
"What kind of a well is that, sir?" asked the boy.
"One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in a gold bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it."
"I'll get the water from the dark well," said Ojo.
"Then I must have three hairs from the tip of a Woozy's tail, and a drop of oil from a live man's body."
Ojo looked grave at this.
"What is a Woozy, please?" he inquired.
"Some sort of an animal. I've never seen one, so I can't describe it," replied the Magician.
"If I can find a Woozy, I'll get the hairs from its tail," said Ojo. "But is there ever any oil in a man's body?"
The Magician looked in the book again, to make sure.
"That's what the recipe calls for," he replied, "and of course we must get everything that is called for, or the charm won't work. The book doesn't say 'blood'; it says 'oil,' and there must be oil somewhere in a live man's body or the book wouldn't ask for it."
"All right," returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; "I'll try to find it."
The Magician looked at the little Munchkin boy in a doubtful way and said:
"All this will mean a long journey for you; perhaps several long journeys; for you must search through several of the different countries of Oz in order to get the things I need."
"I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save Unc Nunkie."
"And also my poor wife Margolotte. If you save one you will save the other, for both stand there together and the same compound will restore them both to life. Do the best you can, Ojo, and while you are gone I shall begin the six years job of making a new batch of the Powder of Life. Then, if you should unluckily fail to secure any one of the things needed, I will have lost no time. But if you succeed you must return here as quickly as you can, and that will save me much tiresome stirring of four kettles with both feet and both hands."
"I will start on my journey at once, sir," said the boy.
"And I will go with you," declared the Patchwork Girl.
"No, no!" exclaimed the Magician. "You have no right to leave this house. You are only a servant and have not been discharged."
Scraps, who had been dancing up and down the room, stopped and looked at him.
"What is a servant?" she asked.
"One who serves. A--a sort of slave," he explained.
"Very well," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'm going to serve you and your wife by helping Ojo find the things you need. You need a lot, you know, such as are not easily found."
"It is true," sighed Dr. Pipt. "I am well aware that Ojo has undertaken a serious task."
Scraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:
"Here's a job for a boy of brains:
A drop of oil from a live man's veins;
A six-leaved clover; three nice hairs
From a Woozy's tail, the book declares
Are needed for the magic spell,
And water from a pitch-dark well.
The yellow wing of a butterfly
To find must Ojo also try,
And if he gets them without harm,
Doc Pipt will make the magic charm;
But if he doesn't get 'em, Unc
Will always stand a marble chunk."
The Magician looked at her thoughtfully.
"Poor Margolotte must have given you some of the quality of poesy, by mistake," he said. "And, if that is true, I didn't make a very good article when I prepared it, or else you got an overdose or an underdose. However, I believe I shall let you go with Ojo, for my poor wife will not need your services until she is restored to life. Also I think you may be able to help the boy, for your head seems to contain some thoughts I did not expect to find in it. But be very careful of yourself, for you're a souvenir of my dear Margolotte. Try not to get ripped, or your stuffing may fall out. One of your eyes seems loose, and you may have to sew it on tighter. If you talk too much you'll wear out your scarlet plush tongue, which ought to have been hemmed on the edges. And remember you belong to me and must return here as soon as your mission is accomplished."
"I'm going with Scraps and Ojo," announced the Glass Cat.
"You can't," said the Magician.
"Why not?"
"You'd get broken in no time, and you couldn't be a bit of use to the boy and the Patchwork Girl."
"I beg to differ with you," returned the cat, in a haughty tone. "Three heads are better than two, and my pink brains are beautiful. You can see 'em work."
"Well, go along," said the Magician, irritably. "You're only an annoyance, anyhow, and I'm glad to get rid of you."
"Thank you for nothing, then," answered the cat, stiffly.
Dr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard and packed several things in it. Then he handed it to Ojo.
"Here is some food and a bundle of charms," he said. "It is all I can give you, but I am sure you will find friends on your journey who will assist you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork Girl and bring her safely back, for she ought to prove useful to my wife. As for the Glass Cat--properly named Bungle--if she bothers you I now give you my permission to break her in two, for she is not respectful and does not obey me. I made a mistake in giving her the pink brains, you see."
Then Ojo went to Unc Nunkie and kissed the old man's marble face very tenderly.
"I'm going to try to save you, Unc," he said, just as if the marble image could hear him; and then he shook the crooked hand of the Crooked Magician, who was already busy hanging the four kettles in the fireplace, and picking up his basket left the house.
The Patchwork Girl followed him, and after them came the Glass Cat.
