The Patchwork Girl of Oz
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L. Frank Baum >> The Patchwork Girl of Oz
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"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.
Chapter Six
The Journey
Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew
that the path down the mountainside led into the
open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of
people dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not
supposed to know anything of the Land of Oz, while
the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very
far away from the Magician's house. There was only
one path before them, at the beginning, so they
could not miss their way, and for a time they
walked through the thick forest in silent thought,
each one impressed with the importance of the
adventure they had undertaken.
Suddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was
funny to see her laugh, because her cheeks
wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button
eyes twinkled and her mouth curled at the
corners in a comical way.
"Has something pleased you?" asked Ojo, who was
feeling solemn and joyless through thinking upon
his uncle's sad fate.
"Yes," she answered. "Your world pleases me, for
it's a queer world, and life in it is queerer
still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and
intended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered
free as air by an accident that none of you could
foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world,
while the woman who made me is standing helpless
as a block of wood. If that isn't funny enough to
laugh at, I don't know what is."
"You're not seeing much of the world yet,
my poor, innocent Scraps," remarked the Cat.
"The world doesn't consist wholly of the trees
that are on all sides of us."
"But they're part of it; and aren't they pretty
trees?" returned Scraps, bobbing her head until
her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze.
"Growing between them I can see lovely ferns
and wild-flowers, and soft green mosses. If the
rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be
glad I'm alive."
"I don't know what the rest of the world is
like, I'm sure," said the cat; "but I mean to
find out."
"I have never been out of the forest," Ojo
added; "but to me the trees are gloomy and sad
and the wild-flowers seem lonesome. It must be
nicer where there are no trees and there is room
for lots of people to live together."
"I wonder if any of the people we shall meet
will be as splendid as I am," said the Patchwork
Girl. "All I have seen, so far, have pale,
colorless skins and clothes as blue as the country
they live in, while I am of many gorgeous colors--
face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright
and contented, Ojo, while you are blue and sad."
"I think I made a mistake in giving you so many
sorts of brains," observed the boy. "Perhaps, as
the Magician said, you have an overdose, and they
may not agree with you."
"What had you to do with my brains?" asked
Scraps.
"A lot," replied Ojo. "Old Margolotte meant
to give you only a few--just enough to keep
you going--but when she wasn't looking I added
a good many more, of the best kinds I could
find in the Magician's cupboard."
"Thanks," said the girl, dancing along the
path ahead of Ojo and then dancing back to his
side. "If a few brains are good, many brains
must be better."
"But they ought to be evenly balanced," said the
boy, "and I had no time to be careful. From the
way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly
mixed."
"Scraps hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so
don't worry," remarked the cat, which was trotting
along in a very dainty and graceful manner. "The
only brains worth considering are mine, which are
pink. You can see 'em work."
After walking a long time they came to a little
brook that trickled across the path, and here Ojo
sat down to rest and eat something from his
basket. He found that the Magician had given him
part of a loaf of bread and a slice of cheese. He
broke off some of the bread and was surprised to
find the loaf just as large as it was before. It
was the same way with the cheese: however much he
broke off from the slice, it remained exactly the
same size.
"Ah," said he, nodding wisely; "that's magic.
Dr. Pipt has enchanted the bread and the cheese,
so it will last me all through my journey, however
much I eat."
"Why do you put those things into your mouth?"
asked Scraps, gazing at him in astonishment. "Do
you need more stuffing? Then why don't you use
cotton, such as I am stuffed with?"
"I don't need that kind," said Ojo.
"But a mouth is to talk with, isn't it?"
"It is also to eat with," replied the boy. "If I
didn't put food into my mouth, and eat it, I would
get hungry and starve.
"Ah, I didn't know that," she said. "Give me
some."
Ojo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it
in her mouth.
"What next?" she asked, scarcely able to speak.
"Chew it and swallow it," said the boy.
Scraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable
to chew the bread and beyond her mouth there was
no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw away
the bread and laughed.
"I must get hungry and starve, for I can't eat,"
she said.
"Neither can I," announced the cat; "but I'm
not fool enough to try. Can't you understand
that you and I are superior people and not made
like these poor humans?"
"Why should I understand that, or anything
else?" asked the girl. "Don't bother my head by
asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me
discover myself in my own way."
With this she began amusing herself by leaping
across the brook and back again.
"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water,"
warned Ojo.
"Never mind."
"You'd better. If you get wet you'll be soggy
and can't walk. Your colors might run, too,"
he said.
"Don't my colors run whenever I run?" she asked.
"Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the
reds and greens and yellows and purples of your
patches might run into each other and become
just a blur--no color at all, you know."
"Then," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'll be
careful, for if I spoiled my splendid colors I
would cease to be beautiful."
"Pah!" sneered the Glass Cat, "such colors are
not beautiful; they're ugly, and in bad taste.
Please notice that my body has no color at all.
I'm transparent, except for my exquisite red heart
and my lovely pink brains--you can see 'em work."
"Shoo--shoo--shoo!" cried Scraps, dancing
around and laughing. "And your horrid green eyes,
Miss Bungle! You can't see your eyes, but we can,
and I notice you're very proud of what little
color you have. Shoo, Miss Bungle, shoo--shoo--shoo!
If you were all colors and many colors, as I am,
you'd be too stuck up for anything." She leaped
over the cat and back again, and the startled
Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her. This
made Scraps laugh more heartily than ever, and she
said:
"Whoop-te-doodle-doo!
The cat has lost her shoe.
Her tootsie's bare, but she don't care,
So what's the odds to you?"
"Dear me, Ojo," said the cat; "don't you think
the creature is a little bit crazy?"
"It may be," he answered, with a puzzled look.
"If she continues her insults I'll scratch off
her suspender-button eyes," declared the cat.
"Don't quarrel, please," pleaded the boy, rising
to resume the journey. "Let us be good comrades
and as happy and cheerful as possible, for we are
likely to meet with plenty of trouble on our way."
It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge
of the forest and saw spread out before them a
delightful landscape. There were broad blue fields
stretching for miles over the valley, which was
dotted everywhere with pretty, blue domed houses,
none of which, however, was very near to the place
where they stood. Just at the point where the path
left the forest stood a tiny house covered with
leaves from the trees, and before this stood a
Munchkin man with an axe in his hand. He seemed
very much surprised when Ojo and Scraps and the
Glass Cat came out of the woods, but as the
Patchwork Girl approached nearer he sat down upon
a bench and laughed so hard that he could not
speak for a long time.
This man was a woodchopper and lived all alone
in the little house. He had bushy blue whiskers
and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were quite
old and worn.
"Mercy me!" exclaimed the woodchopper, when at
last he could stop laughing. "Who would think such
a funny harlequin lived in the Land of Oz? Where
did you come from, Crazy-quilt?"
"Do you mean me?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Of course," he replied.
"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazy-
quilt; I'm patchwork," she said.
"There's no difference," he replied, beginning
to laugh again. "When my old grandmother sews such
things together she calls it a crazy-quilt; but I
never thought such a jumble could come to life."
"It was the Magic Powder that did it," explained
Ojo.
"Oh, then you have come from the Crooked
Magician on the mountain. I might have known it,
for--Well, I declare! here's a glass cat. But the
Magician will get in trouble for this; it's
against the law for anyone to work magic except
Glinda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you
people--or things--or glass spectacles--or crazy-
quilts--or whatever you are, go near the Emerald
City, you'll be arrested."
"We're going there, anyhow," declared
Scraps, sitting upon the bench and swinging her
stuffed legs.
"If any of us takes a rest,
We'll be arrested sure,
And get no restitution
'Cause the rest we must endure."
"I see," said the woodchopper, nodding; "you're
as crazy as the crazy-quilt you're made of."
"She really is crazy," remarked the Glass Cat.
"But that isn't to be wondered at when you
remember how many different things she's made of.
For my part, I'm made of pure glass--except my
jewel heart and my pretty pink brains. Did you
notice my brains, stranger? You can see 'em work."
"So I can," replied the woodchopper; "but I
can't see that they accomplish much. A glass cat
is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork Girl
is really useful. She makes me laugh, and laughter
is the best thing in life. There was once a
woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was made all of
tin, and I used to laugh every time I saw him."
"A tin woodchopper?" said Ojo. "That is
strange."
"My friend wasn't always tin," said the man,
"but he was careless with his axe, and used to
chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm
or a leg he had it replaced with tin; so after a
while he was all tin."
"And could he chop wood then?" asked the boy.
"He could if he didn't rust his tin joints. But
one day he met Dorothy in the forest and went with
her to the Emerald City, where he made his
fortune. He is now one of the favorites of
Princess Ozma, and she has made him the Emperor of
the Winkies--the Country where all is yellow."
"Who is Dorothy?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but
is now a Princess of Oz. She's Ozma's best
friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal
palace."
"Is Dorothy made of tin?" inquired Ojo.
"Is she patchwork, like me?" inquired Scraps.
"No," said the man; "Dorothy is flesh, just as I
am. I know of only one tin person, and that is
Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will
never be but one Patchwork Girl, for any magician
that sees you will refuse to make another one like
you."
"I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we
are going to the Country of the Winkies," said the
boy.
"What for?" asked the woodchopper.
"To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"It is a long journey," declared the man, "and
you will go through lonely parts of Oz and cross
rivers and traverse dark forests before you get
there."
"Suits me all right," said Scraps. "I'll get a
chance to see the country."
"You're crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag
and hide there; or give yourself to some little
girl to play with. Those who travel are likely to
meet trouble; that's why I stay at home."
The woodchopper then invited them all to
stay the night at his little hut, but they were
anxious to get on and so left him and continued
along the path, which was broader, now, and
more distinct.
They expected to reach some other house before
it grew dark, but the twilight was brief and Ojo
soon began to fear they had made a mistake in
leaving the woodchopper.
"I can scarcely see the path," he said at last.
"Can you see it, Scraps?"
"No," replied the Patchwork Girl, who was
holding fast to the boy's arm so he could
guide her.
"I can see," declared the Glass Cat. "My eyes
are better than yours, and my pink brains--"
"Never mind your pink brains, please," said
Ojo hastily; "just run ahead and show us the
way. Wait a minute and I'll tie a string to you;
for then you can lead us."
He got a string from his pocket and tied it
around the cat's neck, and after that the creature
guided them along the path. They had proceeded in
this way for about an hour when a twinkling blue
light appeared ahead of them.
"Good! there's a house at last," cried Ojo.
"When we reach it the good people will surely
welcome us and give us a night's lodging." But
however far they walked the light seemed to get
no nearer, so by and by the cat stopped short,
saying:
"I think the light is traveling, too, and we
shall never be able to catch up with it. But here
is a house by the roadside, so why go farther?"
"Where is the house, Bungle?"
"Just here beside us, Scraps."
Ojo was now able to see a small house near
the pathway. It was dark and silent, but the boy
was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to
the door and knocked.
"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.
"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are
Miss Scraps Patchwork and the Glass Cat," he
replied.
"What do you want?" asked the Voice.
"A place to sleep," said Ojo.
"Come in, then; but don't make any noise,
and you must go directly to bed," returned the
Voice.
Ojo unlatched the door and entered. It was
very dark inside and he could see nothing at all.
But the cat exclaimed: "Why, there's no one
here!"
"There must be," said the boy. "Some one
spoke to me."
"I can see everything in the room," replied the
cat, "and no one is present but ourselves. But
here are three beds, all made up, so we may as
well go to sleep."
"What is sleep?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Ojo.
"But why do you go to bed?" persisted the
Patchwork Girl.
"Here, here! You are making altogether too
much noise," cried the Voice they had heard
before. "Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed."
The cat, which could see in the dark, looked
sharply around for the owner of the Voice, but
could discover no one, although the Voice had
seemed close beside them. She arched her back
a little and seemed afraid. Then she whispered
to Ojo: "Come!" and led him to a bed.
With his hands the boy felt of the bed and
found it was big and soft, with feather pillows
and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes
and hat and crept into the bed. Then the cat
led Scraps to another bed and the Patchwork
Girl was puzzled to know what to do with it.
"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the
cat, warningly.
"Can't I sing?" asked Scraps.
"No."
"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.
"No."
"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?"
asked Scraps.
"You must keep quiet," said the cat, in a soft
voice.
"I don't want to," replied the Patchwork Girl,
speaking as loudly as usual. "What right have you
to order me around? If I want to talk, or yell, or
whistle--"
Before she could say anything more an unseen
hand seized her firmly and threw her out of the
door, which closed behind her with a sharp
slam. She found herself bumping and rolling in
the road and when she got up and tried to open
the door of the house again she found it locked.
"What has happened to Scraps?" asked Ojo.
"Never mind. Let's go to sleep, or something
will happen to us," answered the Glass Cat.
So Ojo snuggled down in his bed and fell
asleep, and he was so tired that he never
wakened until broad daylight.
Chapter Seven
The Troublesome Phonograph
When the boy opened his eyes next morning he
looked carefully around the room. These small
Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in
them. That in which Ojo now found himself had
three beds, set all in a row on one side of it.
The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in
the second, and the third was neatly made up and
smoothed for the day. On the other side of the
room was a round table on which breakfast was
already placed, smoking hot. Only one chair was
drawn up to the table, where a place was set for
one person. No one seemed to be in the room except
the boy and Bungle.
Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a
toilet stand at the head of his bed he washed his
face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he
went to the table and said:
"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"
"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, so
near that Ojo jumped. But no person could he
see.
He was hungry, and the breakfast looked
good; so he sat down and ate all he wanted.
Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the
Glass Cat.
"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go."
He cast another glance about the room and,
speaking to the air, he said: "Whoever lives here
has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."
There was no answer, so he took his basket
and went out the door, the cat following him.
In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork
Girl, playing with pebbles she had picked up.
"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully.
"I thought you were never coming out. It has been
daylight a long time."
"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.
"Sat here and watched the stars and the
moon," she replied. "They're interesting. I never
saw them before, you know."
"Of course not," said Ojo.
"You were crazy to act so badly and get
thrown outdoors," remarked Bungle, as they
renewed their journey.
"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't
been thrown out I wouldn't have seen the stars,
nor the big gray wolf."
"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.
"The one that came to the door of the house
three times during the night."
"I don't see why that should be," said the
boy, thoughtfully; "there was plenty to eat in
that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I
slept in a nice bed."
"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork
Girl, noticing that the boy yawned.
"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night;
and yet I slept very well."
"And aren't you hungry?"
"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good
breakfast, and yet I think I'll now eat some of
my crackers and cheese."
Scraps danced up and down the path. Then
she sang:
"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;
The wolf is at the door,
There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,
And a bill from the grocery store."
"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.
"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what
comes into my head, but of course I know nothing
of a grocery store or bones without meat or--
very much else."
"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring,
raving crazy, and her brains can't be pink, for
they don't work properly."
"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares
for 'em, anyhow? Have you noticed how beautiful my
patches are in this sunlight?"
Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps
pattering along the path behind them and all three
turned to see what was coming. To their
astonishment they beheld a small round table
running as fast as its four spindle legs could
carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a
phonograph with a big gold horn.
"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for
me!"
"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the
Crooked Magician scattered the Powder of Life
over," said Ojo.
"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of
voice; and then, as the phonograph overtook them,
the Glass Cat added sternly: "What are you doing
here, anyhow?"
"I've run away," said the music thing. "After
you left, old Dr. Pipt and I had a dreadful
quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if
I didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that,
because a talking-machine is supposed to talk and
make a noise--and sometimes music. So I slipped out
of the house while the Magician was stirring his
four kettles and I've been running after you all
night. Now that I've found such pleasant company,
I can talk and play tunes all I want to."
Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome
addition to their party. At first he did not know
what to say to the newcomer, but a little thought
decided him not to make friends.
"We are traveling on important business," he
declared, "and you'll excuse me if I say we can't
be bothered."
"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.
"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'll
have to go somewhere else."
"This is very unkind treatment, I must say,"
whined the phonograph, in an injured tone.
"Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended
to amuse people."
"It isn't you we hate, especially," observed
the Glass Cat; "it's your dreadful music. When
I lived in the same room with you I was much
annoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls and
grumbles and clicks and scratches so it spoils
the music, and your machinery rumbles so that
the racket drowns every tune you attempt."
"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my
records. I must admit that I haven't a clear
record," answered the machine.
"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said
Ojo.
"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This music
thing interests me. I remember to have heard
music when I first came to life, and I would like
to hear it again. What is your name, my poor
abused phonograph?"
"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.
"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said
the Patchwork Girl. "Go ahead and play something."
"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.
"I'm crazy now, according to your statement.
Loosen up and reel out the music, Vic."
"The only record I have with me," explained
the phonograph, "is one the Magician attached
just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly
classical composition."
"A what?" inquired Scraps.
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