The Patchwork Girl of Oz
L >>
L. Frank Baum >> The Patchwork Girl of Oz
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13
Scraps didn't understand this, but she had an
uneasy misgiving that she had a cotton back
herself. It would settle down, at times, and make
her squat and dumpy, and then she had to roll
herself in the road until her body stretched out again.
Chapter Ten
Shaggy Man to the Rescue
They had not gone very far before Bungle, who had
run on ahead, came bounding back to say that the
road of yellow bricks was just before them. At
once they hurried forward to see what this famous
road looked like.
It was a broad road, but not straight, for it
wandered over hill and dale and picked out the
easiest places to go. All its length and breadth
was paved with smooth bricks of a bright yellow
color, so it was smooth and level except in a few
places where the bricks had crumbled or been
removed, leaving holes that might cause the unwary
to stumble.
"I wonder," said Ojo, looking up and down the
road, "which way to go."
"Where are you bound for?" asked the Woozy.
"The Emerald City," he replied.
"Then go west," said the Woozy. "I know this
road pretty well, for I've chased many a honey-bee
over it."
"Have you ever been to the Emerald City?"
asked Scraps.
"No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have
noticed, so I haven't mingled much in society."
"Are you afraid of men?" inquired the Patchwork
Girl.
"Me? With my heart-rending growl--my horrible,
shudderful growl? I should say not. I am not
afraid of anything," declared the Woozy.
"I wish I could say the same," sighed Ojo. "I
don't think we need be afraid when we get to the
Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that
Ozma, our girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and
tries to help everyone who is in trouble. But they
say there are many dangers lurking on the road to
the great Fairy City, and so we must be very
careful."
"I hope nothing will break me," said the
Glass Cat, in a nervous voice. "I'm a little brittle,
you know, and can't stand many hard knocks."
"If anything should fade the colors of my lovely
patches it would break my heart," said the
Patchwork Girl.
"I'm not sure you have a heart," Ojo reminded
her.
"Then it would break my cotton," persisted
Scraps. "Do you think they are all fast colors,
Ojo?" she asked anxiously.
"They seem fast enough when you run," he
replied; and then, looking ahead of them, he
exclaimed: "Oh, what lovely trees!"
They were certainly pretty to look upon and
the travelers hurried forward to observe them
more closely.
"Why, they are not trees at all," said Scraps;
"they are just monstrous plants."
That is what they really were: masses of great
broad leaves which rose from the ground far into
the air, until they towered twice as high as the
top of the Patchwork Girl's head, who was a little
taller than Ojo. The plants formed rows on both
sides of the road and from each plant rose a dozen
or more of the big broad leaves, which swayed
continually from side to side, although no wind
was blowing. But the most curious thing about the
swaying leaves was their color. They seemed to
have a general groundwork of blue, but here and
there other colors glinted at times through the
blue--gorgeous yellows, turning to pink, purple,
orange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns
and grays--each appearing as a blotch or stripe
anywhere on a leaf and then disappearing, to be
replaced by some other color of a different shape.
The changeful coloring of the great leaves was
very beautiful, but it was bewildering, as well,
and the novelty of the scene drew our travelers
close to the line of plants, where they stood
watching them with rapt interest.
Suddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and
touched the Patchwork Girl. Swiftly it enveloped
her in its embrace, covering her completely in
its thick folds, and then it swayed back upon its
stem.
"Why, she's gone!" gasped Ojo, in amazement, and
listening carefully he thought he could hear the
muffled screams of Scraps coming from the center
of the folded leaf. But, before he could think
what he ought to do to save her, another leaf bent
down and captured the Glass Cat, rolling around
the little creature until she was completely
hidden, and then straightening up again upon its
stem.
"Look out," cried the Woozy. "Run! Run
fast, or you are lost."
Ojo turned and saw the Woozy running
swiftly up the road. But the last leaf of the row
of plants seized the beast even as he ran and
instantly he disappeared from sight.
The boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of
the great leaves were bending toward him from
different directions and as he stood hesitating
one of them clutched him in its embrace. In a
flash he was in the dark. Then he felt himself
gently lifted until he was swaying in the air,
with the folds of the leaf hugging him on all
sides.
At first he struggled hard to escape, crying
out in anger: "Let me go! Let me go!" But
neither struggles nor protests had any effect
whatever. The leaf held him firmly and he was
a prisoner.
Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think.
Despair fell upon him when he remembered that all
his little party had been captured, even as he
was, and there was none to save them.
"I might have expected it," he sobbed,
miserably. "I'm Ojo the Unlucky, and something
dreadful was sure to happen to me."
He pushed against the leaf that held him and
found it to be soft, but thick and firm. It was
like a great bandage all around him and he
found it difficult to move his body or limbs in
order to change their position.
The minutes passed and became hours. Ojo
wondered how long one could live in such a
condition and if the leaf would gradually sap
his strength and even his life, in order to feed
itself. The little Munchkin boy had never heard
of any person dying in the Land of Oz, but he
knew one could suffer a great deal of pain. His
greatest fear at this time was that he would
always remain imprisoned in the beautiful leaf
and never see the light of day again.
No sound came to him through the leaf; all
around was intense silence. Ojo wondered if Scraps
had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the leaf
prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought he
heard a whistle, as of some one whistling a tune.
Yes; it really must be some one whistling, he
decided, for he could follow the strains of a
pretty Munchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to
sing to him. The sounds were low and sweet and,
although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly,
they were clear and harmonious.
Could the leaf whistle, Ojo wondered? Nearer and
nearer came the sounds and then they seemed to be
just the other side of the leaf that was hugging
him.
Suddenly the whole leaf toppled and fell,
carrying the boy with it, and while he sprawled at
full length the folds slowly relaxed and set him
free. He scrambled quickly to his feet and found
that a strange man was standing before him--a man
so curious in appearance that the boy stared with
round eyes.
He was a big man, with shaggy whiskers, shaggy
eyebrows, shaggy hair--but kindly blue eyes that
were gentle as those of a cow. On his head was a
green velvet hat with a jeweled band, which was
all shaggy around the brim. Rich but shaggy laces
were at his throat; a coat with shaggy edges was
decorated with diamond buttons; the velvet
breeches had jeweled buckles at the knees and
shags all around the bottoms. On his breast hung a
medallion bearing a picture of Princess Dorothy of
Oz, and in his hand, as he stood looking at Ojo,
was a sharp knife shaped like a dagger.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ojo, greatly astonished at the
sight of this stranger; and then he added: "Who
has saved me, sir?"
"Can't you see?" replied the other, with a
smile; "I'm the Shaggy Man."
"Yes; I can see that," said the boy, nodding.
"Was it you who rescued me from the leaf?"
"None other, you may be sure. But take care,
or I shall have to rescue you again."
Ojo gave a jump, for he saw several broad
leaves leaning toward him; but the Shaggy Man
began to whistle again, and at the sound the
leaves all straightened up on their stems and
kept still.
The man now took Ojo's arm and led him
up the road, past the last of the great plants,
and not till he was safely beyond their reach did
he cease his whistling.
"You see, the music charms 'em," said he.
"Singing or whistling--it doesn't matter which--
makes 'em behave, and nothing else will. I always
whistle as I go by 'em and so they always let me
alone. To-day as I went by, whistling, I saw a leaf
curled and knew there must be something inside it.
I cut down the leaf with my knife and--out you
popped. Lucky I passed by, wasn't it?"
"You were very kind," said Ojo, "and I thank
you. Will you please rescue my companions, also?"
"What companions?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"The leaves grabbed them all," said the boy.
"There's a Patchwork Girl and--"
"A what?"
"A girl made of patchwork, you know. She's
alive and her name is Scraps. And there's a
Glass Cat--"
"Glass?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"All glass."
"And alive?"
"Yes," said Ojo; "she has pink brains. And
there's a Woozy--"
"What's a Woozy?" inquired the Shaggy Man.
"Why, I--I--can't describe it," answered the
boy, greatly perplexed. "But it's a queer animal
with three hairs on the tip of its tail that won't
come out and--"
"What won't come out?" asked the Shaggy Man;
"the tail?"
"The hairs won't come out. But you'll see the
Woozy, if you'll please rescue it, and then you'll
know just what it is."
"Of course," said the Shaggy Man, nodding his
shaggy head. And then he walked back among the
plants, still whistling, and found the three
leaves which were curled around Ojo's traveling
companions. The first leaf he cut down released
Scraps, and on seeing her the Shaggy Man threw
back his shaggy head, opened wide his mouth and
laughed so shaggily and yet so merrily that Scraps
liked him at once. Then he took off his hat and
made her a low bow, saying:
"My dear, you're a wonder. I must introduce
you to my friend the Scarecrow."
When he cut down the second leaf he rescued the
Glass Cat, and Bungle was so frightened that she
scampered away like a streak and soon had joined
Ojo, when she sat beside him panting and
trembling. The last plant of all the row had
captured the Woozy, and a big bunch in the center
of the curled leaf showed plainly where he was.
With his sharp knife the Shaggy Man sliced off the
stem of the leaf and as it fell and unfolded out
trotted the Woozy and escaped beyond the reach of
any more of the dangerous plants.
Chapter Eleven
A Good Friend
Soon the entire party was gathered on the road of
yellow bricks, quite beyond the reach of the
beautiful but treacherous plants. The Shaggy Man,
staring first at one and then at the other, seemed
greatly pleased and interested.
"I've seen queer things since I came to the Land
of Oz," said he, "but never anything queerer than
this band of adventurers. Let us sit down a while,
and have a talk and get acquainted."
"Haven't you always lived in the Land of Oz?"
asked the Munchkin boy.
"No; I used to live in the big, outside world.
But I came here once with Dorothy, and Ozma
let me stay."
"How do you like Oz?" asked Scraps. "Isn't
the country and the climate grand?"
"It's the finest country in all the world, even
if it is a fairyland. and I'm happy every minute I
live in it," said the Shaggy Man. "But tell me
something about yourselves."
So Ojo related the story of his visit to the
house of the Crooked Magician, and how he met
there the Glass Cat, and how the Patchwork Girl
was brought to life and of the terrible accident
to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte. Then he told how he
had set out to find the five different things
which the Magician needed to make a charm that
would restore the marble figures to life, one
requirement being three hairs from a Woozy's tail.
"We found the Woozy," explained the boy,
"and he agreed to give us the three hairs; but
we couldn't pull them out. So we had to bring
the Woozy along with us."
"I see," returned the Shaggy Man, who had
listened with interest to the story. "But perhaps
I, who am big and strong, can pull those three
hairs from the Woozy's tail."
"Try it, if you like," said the Woozy.
So the Shaggy Man tried it, but pull as hard
as he could he failed to get the hairs out of the
Woozy's tail. So he sat down again and wiped
his shaggy face with a shaggy silk handkerchief
and said:
"It doesn't matter. If you can keep the Woozy
until you get the rest of the things you need,
you can take the beast and his three hairs to
the Crooked Magician and let him find a way
to extract 'em. What are the other things you are
to find?"
"One," said Ojo, "is a six-leaved clover."
"You ought to find that in the fields around
the Emerald City," said the Shaggy Man.
"There is a Law against picking six-leaved
clovers, but I think I can get Ozma to let you
have one."
"Thank you," replied Ojo. "The next thing
is the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"For that you must go to the Winkie Country,"
the Shaggy Man declared. "I've never noticed any
butterflies there, but that is the yellow country
of Oz and it's ruled by a good friend of mine,
the Tin Woodman."
"Oh, I've heard of him!" exclaimed Ojo. "He
must be a wonderful man."
"So he is, and his heart is wonderfully kind.
I'm sure the Tin Woodman will do all in his
power to help you to save your Unc Nunkie
and poor Margolotte."
"The next thing I must find," said the
Munchkin boy, "is a gill of water from a dark
well."
"Indeed! Well, that is more difficult," said
the Shaggy Man, scratching his left ear in a
puzzled way. "I've never heard of a dark well;
have you?"
"No," said Ojo.
"Do you know where one may be found?" inquired
the Shaggy Man.
"I can't imagine," said Ojo.
"Then we must ask the Scarecrow."
"The Scarecrow! But surely, sir, a scarecrow
can't know anything."
"Most scarecrows don't, I admit," answered
the Shaggy Man. "But this Scarecrow of whom
I speak is very intelligent. He claims to possess
the best brains in all Oz."
"Better than mine?" asked Scraps.
"Better than mine?" echoed the Glass Cat.
"Mine are pink, and you can see 'em work."
"Well, you can't see the Scarecrow's brains
work, but they do a lot of clever thinking,"
asserted the Shaggy Man. "If anyone knows where a
dark well is, it's my friend the Scarecrow."
"Where does he live?" inquired Ojo.
"He has a splendid castle in the Winkie
Country, near to the palace of his friend the
Tin Woodman, and he is often to be found in
the Emerald City, where he visits Dorothy at
the royal palace."
"Then we will ask him about the dark well,"
said Ojo.
"But what else does this Crooked Magician
want?" asked the Shaggy Man.
"A drop of oil from a live man's body."
"Oh; but there isn't such a thing."
"That is what I thought," replied Ojo; "but
the Crooked Magician said it wouldn't be called
for by the recipe if it couldn't be found, and
therefore I must search until I find it."
"I wish you good luck," said the Shaggy Man,
shaking his head doubtfully; "but I imagine
you'll have a hard job getting a drop of oil from
a live man's body. There's blood in a body, but
no oil."
"There's cotton in mine," said Scraps, dancing
a little jig.
"I don't doubt it," returned the Shaggy Man
admiringly. "You're a regular comforter and as
sweet as patchwork can be. All you lack is
dignity."
"I hate dignity," cried Scraps, kicking a pebble
high in the air and then trying to catch it as it
fell. "Half the fools and all the wise folks are
dignified, and I'm neither the one nor the other."
"She's just crazy," explained the Glass Cat.
The Shaggy Man laughed.
"She's delightful, in her way," he said. "I'm
sure Dorothy will be pleased with her, and the
Scarecrow will dote on her. Did you say you
were traveling toward the Emerald City?"
"Yes," replied Ojo. "I thought that the best
place to go, at first, because the six-leaved clover
may be found there."
"I'll go with you," said the Shaggy Man, "and
show you the way."
"Thank you," exclaimed Ojo. "I hope it won't
put you out any."
"No," said the other, "I wasn't going anywhere
in particular. I've been a rover all my life, and
although Ozma has given me a suite of beautiful
rooms in her palace I still get the wandering
fever once in a while and start out to roam the
country over. I've been away from the Emerald City
several weeks, this time, and now that I've met
you and your friends I'm sure it will interest me
to accompany you to the great city of Oz and
introduce you to my friends."
"That will be very nice," said the boy,
gratefully.
"I hope your friends are not dignified,"
observed Scraps.
"Some are, and some are not," he answered;
"but I never criticise my friends. If they are
really true friends, they may be anything they
like, for all of me."
"There's some sense in that," said Scraps,
nodding her queer head in approval. "Come on, and
let's get to the Emerald City as soon as
possible." With this she ran up the path, skipping
and dancing, and then turned to await them.
"It is quite a distance from here to the Emerald
City," remarked the Shaggy Man, "so we shall not
get there to-day, nor to-morrow. Therefore let us
take the jaunt in an easy manner. I'm an old
traveler and have found that I never gain anything
by being in a hurry. 'Take it easy' is my motto.
If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you
can."
After walking some distance over the road of
yellow bricks Ojo said he was hungry and would
stop to eat some bread and cheese. He offered a
portion of the food to the Shaggy Man, who thanked
him but refused it.
"When I start out on my travels," said he,
"I carry along enough square meals to last me
several weeks. Think I'll indulge in one now,
as long as we're stopping anyway."
Saying this, he took a bottle from his pocket
and shook from it a tablet about the size of one
of Ojo's finger-nails.
"That," announced the Shaggy Man, "is a square
meal, in condensed form. Invention of the great
Professor Woggle-Bug, of the Royal College of
Athletics. It contains soup, fish, roast meat,
salad, apple-dumplings, ice cream and chocolate-
drops, all boiled down to this small size, so it
can be conveniently carried and swallowed when you
are hungry and need a square meal."
"I'm square," said the Woozy. "Give me one,
please."
So the Shaggy Man gave the Woozy a tablet from
his bottle and the beast ate it in a twinkling.
"You have now had a six course dinner,"
declared the Shaggy Man.
"Pshaw!" said the Woozy, ungratefully, "I
want to taste something. There's no fun in that
sort of eating."
"One should only eat to sustain life," replied
the Shaggy Man, "and that tablet is equal to a
peck of other food."
"I don't care for it. I want something I can
chew and taste," grumbled the Woozy.
"You are quite wrong, my poor beast," said
the Shaggy Man in a tone of pity. "Think how
tired your jaws would get chewing a square
meal like this, if it were not condensed to the
size of a small tablet--which you can swallow
in a jiffy."
"Chewing isn't tiresome; it's fun, maintained
the Woozy. "I always chew the honey-bees when I
catch them. Give me some bread and cheese, Ojo."
"No, no! You've already eaten a big dinner!"
protested the Shaggy Man.
"May be," answered the Woozy; "but I guess
I'll fool myself by munching some bread and
cheese. I may not be hungry, having eaten all
those things you gave me, but I consider this
eating business a matter of taste, and I like to
realize what's going into me."
Ojo gave the beast what he wanted, but the
Shaggy Man shook his shaggy head reproachfully and
said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to
convince as a Woozy.
At this moment a patter of footsteps was heard,
and looking up they saw the live phonograph
standing before them. It seemed to have passed
through many adventures since Ojo and his comrades
last saw the machine, for the varnish of its
wooden case was all marred and dented and
scratched in a way that gave it an aged and
disreputable appearance.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard.
"What has happened to you?"
"Nothing much," replied the phonograph in
a sad and depressed voice. "I've had enough
things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock
a department store and furnish half a dozen
bargain-counters."
"Are you so broken up that you can't play?"
asked Scraps.
"No; I still am able to grind out delicious
music. Just now I've a record on tap that is
really superb," said the phonograph, growing more
cheerful.
"That is too bad," remarked Ojo. "We've no
objection to you as a machine, you know; but
as a music-maker we hate you."
"Then why was I ever invented?" demanded
the machine, in a tone of indignant protest.
They looked at one another inquiringly, but
no one could answer such a puzzling question.
Finally the Shaggy Man said:
"I'd like to hear the phonograph play."
Ojo sighed. "We've been very happy since we
met you, sir," he said.
"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes
one appreciate happiness more. Tell me, Phony,
what is this record like, which you say you have
on tap?"
"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands
the common people have gone wild over it."
"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then
it's dangerous."
"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the
phonograph. "Listen. This song will prove a
rare treat to you, I know. It made the author
rich--for an author. It is called 'My Lulu.'"
Then the phonograph began to play. A strain
of odd, jerky sounds was followed by these
words, sung by a man through his nose with
great vigor of expression:
"Ah wants mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu;
Ah wants mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!
Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu,
There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!"
"Here--shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man,
springing to his feet. "What do you mean by
such impertinence?"
"It's the latest popular song," declared the
phonograph, speaking in a sulky tone of voice.
"A popular song?"
"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember
the words of and those ignorant of music can
whistle or sing. That makes a popular song
popular, and the time is coming when it will take
the place of all other songs."
"That time won't come to us, just yet," said
the Shaggy Man, sternly: "I'm something of a
singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled
by any Lulus like your coal-black one. I shall
take you all apart, Mr. Phony, and scatter your
pieces far and wide over the country, as a matter
of kindness to the people you might meet if
allowed to run around loose. Having performed
this painful duty I shall--"
But before he could say more the phonograph
turned and dashed up the road as fast as its four
table-legs could carry it, and soon it had entirely
disappeared from their view.
The Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed
well pleased. "Some one else will save me the
trouble of scattering that phonograph," said he;
"for it is not possible that such a music-maker
can last long in the Land of Oz. When you are
rested, friends, let us go on our way."
During the afternoon the travelers found
themselves in a lonely and uninhabited part of the
country. Even the fields were no longer cultivated
and the country began to resemble a wilderness.
The road of yellow bricks seemed to have been
neglected and became uneven and more difficult to
walk upon. Scrubby under-brush grew on either side
of the way, while huge rocks were scattered around
in abundance.
But this did not deter Ojo and his friends from
trudging on, and they beguiled the journey with
jokes and cheerful conversation. Toward evening
they reached a crystal spring which gushed from a
tall rock by the roadside and near this spring
stood a deserted cabin. Said the Shaggy Man,
halting here:
"We may as well pass the night here, where
there is shelter for our heads and good water to
drink. Road beyond here is pretty bad; worst
we shall have to travel; so let's wait until
morning before we tackle it."
They agreed to this and Ojo found some brushwood
in the cabin and made a fire on the hearth. The
fire delighted Scraps, who danced before it until
Ojo warned her she might set fire to herself and
burn up. After that the Patchwork Girl kept at a
respectful distance from the darting flames, but
the Woozy lay down before the fire like a big dog
and seemed to enjoy its warmth.
For supper the Shaggy Man ate one of his
tablets, but Ojo stuck to his bread and cheese as
the most satisfying food. He also gave a portion
to the Woozy.
When darkness came on and they sat in a circle
on the cabin floor, facing the firelight--there
being no furniture of any sort in the place--Ojo
said to the Shaggy Man:
"Won't you tell us a story?"
"I'm not good at stories," was the reply; "but
I sing like a bird."
"Raven, or crow?" asked the Glass Cat.
"Like a song bird. I'll prove it. I'll sing a song
I composed myself. Don't tell anyone I'm a poet;
they might want me to write a book. Don't tell
'em I can sing, or they'd want me to make
records for that awful phonograph. Haven't
time to be a public benefactor, so I'll just sing
you this little song for your own amusement."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13