The Patchwork Girl of Oz

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They were glad enough to be entertained,
and listened with interest while the Shaggy Man
chanted the following verses to a tune that was
not unpleasant:

"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwell
And fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,
Where magic is a science and where no one shows surprise
If some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.

Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;
She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decrees
To make her people happy, for her heart is kind and true
And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.

And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,
A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;
And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,
Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.

I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,
Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,
Nor old Professor Woggle-Bug, who's highly magnified
And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.

Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,
But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;
The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of wood
He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.

And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores--
The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,
And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,
Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.

There's Tik-Tok--he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight--
He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;
And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eat
But never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.

It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;
'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;
But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen
And Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.

Just search the whole world over--sail the seas from coast to coast--
No other nation in creation queerer folk can boast;
And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,
A Woozy, and--last but not least--a crazy Patchwork Lass."

Ojo was so pleased with this song that he
applauded the singer by clapping his hands, and
Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded
fingers together, although they made no noise.
The cat pounded on the floor with her glass
paws--gently, so as not to break them--and the
Woozy, which had been asleep, woke up to ask
what the row was about.

"I seldom sing in public, for fear they might
want me to start an opera company," remarked
the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his
effort was appreciated. "Voice, just now, is a
little out of training; rusty, perhaps."

"Tell me," said the Patchwork Girl earnestly,
"do all those queer people you mention really
live in the Land of Oz?"

"Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing:
Dorothy's Pink Kitten."

"For goodness sake!" exclaimed Bungle, sitting
up and looking interested. "A Pink Kitten? How
absurd! Is it glass?"

"No; just ordinary kitten."

"Then it can't amount to much. I have pink
brains, and you can see 'em work."

"Dorothy's kitten is all pink--brains and all--
except blue eyes. Name's Eureka. Great favorite at
the royal palace," said the Shaggy Man, yawning.

The Glass Cat seemed annoyed.

"Do you think a pink kitten--common meat--is as
pretty as I am?" she asked.

"Can't say. Tastes differ, you know," replied
the Shaggy Man, yawning again. "But here's a
pointer that may be of service to you: make
friends with Eureka and you'll be solid at the
palace."

"I'm solid now; solid glass."

"You don't understand," rejoined the Shaggy
Man, sleepily. "Anyhow, make friends with the
Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the Pink
Kitten despises you, look out for breakers."

"Would anyone at the royal palace break a
Glass Cat?"

"Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr
soft and look humble--if you can. And now I'm
going to bed."

Bungle considered the Shaggy Man's advice
so carefully that her pink brains were busy long
after the others of the party were fast asleep.

Chapter Twelve

The Giant Porcupine

Next morning they started out bright and early to
follow the road of yellow bricks toward the
Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was
beginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he
had a great many things to think of and consider
besides the events of the journey. At the
wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently
reach, were so many strange and curious people
that he was half afraid of meeting them and
wondered if they would prove friendly and kind.
Above all else, he could not drive from his mind
the important errand on which he had come, and he
was determined to devote every energy to finding
the things that were necessary to prepare
the magic recipe. He believed that until dear
Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel
no joy in anything, and often he wished that
Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing
things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now
a marble statue in the house of the Crooked
Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to
save him.

The country through which they were passing was
still rocky and deserted, with here and there a
bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo
noticed one tree, especially, because it had such
long, silky leaves and was so beautiful in shape.
As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly,
wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it bore
pretty flowers.

Suddenly he became aware that he had been
looking at that tree a long time--at least for
five minutes--and it had remained in the same
position, although the boy had continued to
walk steadily on. So he stopped short. and when
he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as
well as his companions, moved on before him
and left him far behind.

Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that
it aroused the Shaggy Man, who also halted.
The others then stopped, too, and walked back
to the boy.

"What's wrong?" asked the Shaggy Man.

"Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no
matter how fast we walk," declared Ojo. "Now
that we have stopped, we are moving backward!
Can't you see? Just notice that rock."

Scraps looked down at her feet and said:
"The yellow bricks are not moving."

"But the whole road is," answered Ojo.

"True; quite true," agreed the Shaggy Man.
"I know all about the tricks of this road, but I
have been thinking of something else and didn't
realize where we were."

"It will carry us back to where we started
from," predicted Ojo, beginning to be nervous.

"No," replied the Shaggy Man; "it won't do
that, for I know a trick to beat this tricky road.
I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn
around, all of you, and walk backward."

"What good will that do?" asked the cat.

"You'll find out, if you obey me," said the
Shaggy Man.

So they all turned their backs to the direction
in which they wished to go and began walking
backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were
gaining ground and as they proceeded in this
curious way they soon passed the tree which had
first attracted his attention to their difficulty.

"How long must we keep this up, Shags?"
asked Scraps, who was constantly tripping and
tumbling down, only to get up again with a
laugh at her mishap.

"Just a little way farther," replied the Shaggy
Man.

A few minutes later he called to them to turn
about quickly and step forward, and as they
obeyed the order they found themselves treading
solid ground.

"That task is well over," observed the Shaggy
Man. "It's a little tiresome to walk backward, but
that is the only way to pass this part of the
road, which has a trick of sliding back and
carrying with it anyone who is walking upon it."

With new courage and energy they now
trudged forward and after a time came to a
place where the road cut through a low hill,
leaving high banks on either side of it. They
were traveling along this cut, talking together,
when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one
arm and Ojo with another and shouted: "Stop!"

"What's wrong now?" asked the Patchwork Girl.

"See there!" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing
with his finger.

Directly in the center of the road lay a
motionless object that bristled all over with
sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was
as big as a ten-bushel-basket, but the projecting
quills made it appear to be four times bigger.

"Well, what of it?" asked Scraps.

"That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble
along this road," was the reply.

"Chiss! What is Chiss?

"I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine,
but here in Oz they consider Chiss an evil spirit.
He's different from a reg'lar porcupine, because
he can throw his quills in any direction, which
an American porcupine cannot do. That's what
makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too
near, he'll fire those quills at us and hurt us
badly."

"Then we will be foolish to get too near,"
said Scraps.

"I'm not afraid," declared the Woozy. "The Chiss
is cowardly, I'm sure, and if it ever heard my
awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be
scared stiff."

"Oh; can you growl?" asked the Shaggy Man.

"That is the only ferocious thing about me,"
asserted the Woozy with evident pride. "My growl
makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed
of itself. If I growled at that creature you call
Chiss, it would immediately think the world had
cracked in two and bumped against the sun and
moon, and that would cause the monster to run as
far and as fast as its legs could carry it."

"In that case," said the Shaggy Man, "you are
now able to do us all a great favor. Please
growl."

"But you forget," returned the Woozy; "my
tremendous growl would also frighten you, and
if you happen to have heart disease you might
expire."

"True; but we must take that risk," decided
the Shaggy Man, bravely. "Being warned of
what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific
noise of your growl; but Chiss won't expect it,
and it will scare him away."

The Woozy hesitated.

"I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you,"
it said.

"Never mind," said Ojo.

"You may be made deaf."

"If so, we will forgive you."

"Very well, then," said the Woozy in a
determined voice, and advanced a few steps toward
the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it
asked: "All ready?"

"All ready!" they answered.

"Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves
firmly. Now, then--look out!"

The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its
mouth and said:

"Quee-ee-ee-eek."

"Go ahead and growl," said Scraps.

"Why, I--I did growl!" retorted the Woozy,
who seemed much astonished.

"What, that little squeak?" she cried.

"It is the most awful growl that ever was heard,
on land or sea, in caverns or in the sky,"
protested the Woozy. "I wonder you stood the shock
so well. Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I
suppose Chiss is now quite dead with fright."

The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.

"Poor Wooz!" said he; "your growl wouldn't
scare a fly."

The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised.
It hung its head a moment, as if in shame or
sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence:
"Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire,
too; good enough to set fire to a fence!"

"That is true," declared Scraps; "I saw it
done myself. But your ferocious growl isn't as
loud as the tick of a beetle--or one of Ojo's
snores when he's fast asleep."

"Perhaps," said the Woozy, humbly, "I have
been mistaken about my growl. It has always
sounded very fearful to me, but that may have
been because it was so close to my ears."

"Never mind," Ojo said soothingly; "it is a
great talent to be able to flash fire from your
eyes. No one else can do that."

As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss
stirred and suddenly a shower of quills came
flying toward them, almost filling the air, they
were so many. Scraps realized in an instant that
they had gone too near to Chiss for safety, so
she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him
from the darts, which stuck their points into her
own body until she resembled one of those
targets they shoot arrows at in archery games.
The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to
avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in
the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat,
the quills rattled off her body without making
even a scratch, and the skin of the Woozy was
so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.

When the attack was over they all ran to the
Shaggy Man, who was moaning and groaning, and
Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg.
Then up he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting
his foot on the monster's neck and holding it a
prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now
as smooth as leather, except for the holes where
the quills had been, for it had shot every single
quill in that one wicked shower.

"Let me go!" it shouted angrily. "How dare
you put your foot on Chiss?"

"I'm going to do worse than that, old boy,"
replied the Shaggy Man. "You have annoyed
travelers on this road long enough, and now
I shall put an end to you."

"You can't!" returned Chiss. "Nothing can
kill me, as you know perfectly well."

"Perhaps that is true," said the Shaggy Man
in a tone of disappointment. "Seems to me I've
been told before that you can't be killed. But if
I let you go, what will you do?"

"Pick up my quills again," said Chiss in a
sulky voice.

"And then shoot them at more travelers? No;
that won't do. You must promise me to stop
throwing quills at people."

"I won't promise anything of the sort," declared
Chiss.

"Why not?"

"Because it is my nature to throw quills, and
every animal must do what Nature intends it
to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were
wrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn't
be made with quills to throw. The proper thing
for you to do is to keep out of my way."

"Why, there's some sense in that argument,"
admitted the Shaggy Man, thoughtfully; "but
people who are strangers, and don't know you
are here, won't be able to keep out of your way."

"Tell you what," said Scraps, who was trying
to pull the quills out of her own body, "let's
gather up all the quills and take them away with
us; then old Chiss won't have any left to throw
at people."

"Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must
gather up the quills while I hold Chiss a
prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of
his quills and be able to throw them again."

So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills
and tied them in a bundle so they might easily
be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released
Chiss and let him go, knowing that he was
harmless to injure anyone.

"It's the meanest trick I ever heard of,"
muttered the porcupine gloomily. "How would you
like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away
from you?"

"If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would
be welcome to capture them," was the reply.

Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in
the road sullen and disconsolate. The Shaggy Man
limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt him,
and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills
had left a number of small holes in her patches.

When they came to a flat stone by the roadside
the Shaggy Man sat down to rest, and then Ojo
opened his basket and took out the bundle of
charms the Crooked Magician had given him.

"I am Ojo the Unlucky," he said, "or we would
never have met that dreadful porcupine. But I will
see if I can find anything among these charms
which will cure your leg."

Soon he discovered that one of the charms
was labelled: "For flesh wounds," and this the
boy separated from the others. It was only a bit
of dried root, taken from some unknown shrub,
but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by
the quill and in a few moments the place was
healed entirely and the Shaggy Man's leg was
as good as ever.

"Rub it on the holes in my patches," suggested
Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but without any effect.

"The charm you need is a needle and thread,"
said the Shaggy Man. "But do not worry, my
dear; those holes do not look badly, at all."

"They'll let in the air, and I don't want people
to think I'm airy, or that I've been stuck
up," said the Patchwork Girl.

"You were certainly stuck up until we pulled
out those quills," observed Ojo, with a laugh.

So now they went on again and coming presently
to a pond of muddy water they tied a heavy stone
to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom
of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.

Chapter Thirteen

Scraps and the Scarecrow

From here on the country improved and the desert
places began to give way to fertile spots; still
no houses were yet to be seen near the road. There
were some hills, with valleys between them, and on
reaching the top of one of these hills the
travelers found before them a high wall, running
to the right and the left as far as their eyes
could reach. Immediately in front of them, where
the wall crossed the roadway, stood a gate having
stout iron bars that extended from top to bottom.
They found, on coming nearer, that this gate was
locked with a great padlock, rusty through lack of
use.

"Well," said Scraps, "I guess we'll stop here."

"It's a good guess," replied Ojo. "Our way is
barred by this great wall and gate. It looks as if
no one had passed through in many years."

"Looks are deceiving," declared the Shaggy Man,
laughing at their disappointed faces, "and this
barrier is the most deceiving thing in all Oz."

"It prevents our going any farther, anyhow,"
said Scraps. "There is no one to mind the gate
and let people through, and we've no key to
the padlock."

"True," replied Ojo, going a little nearer to
peep through the bars of the gate. "What shall we
do, Shaggy Man? If we had wings we might fly over
the wall, but we cannot climb it and unless we get
to the Emerald City I won't be able to find the
things to restore Unc Nunkie to life."

"All very true," answered the Shaggy Man,
quietly; "but I know this gate, having passed
through it many times."

"How?" they all eagerly inquired.

"I'll show you how," said he. He stood Ojo
in the middle of the road and placed Scraps
just behind him, with her padded hands on his
shoulders. After the Patchwork Girl came the
Woozy, who held a part of her skirt in his
mouth. Then, last of all, was the Glass Cat,
holding fast to the Woozy's tail with her glass
jaws.

"Now," said the Shaggy Man, "you must all
shut your eyes tight, and keep them shut until
I tell you to open them."

"I can't," objected Scraps. "My eyes are buttons,
and they won't shut."

So the Shaggy Man tied his red handkerchief over
the Patchwork Girl's eyes and examined all the
others to make sure they had their eyes fast shut
and could see nothing.

"What's the game, anyhow--blind-man's-buff?"
asked Scraps.

"Keep quiet!" commanded the Shaggy Man,
sternly. "All ready? Then follow me."

He took Ojo's hand and led him forward over the
road of yellow bricks, toward the gate. Holding
fast to one another they all followed in a row,
expecting every minute to bump against the iron
bars. The Shaggy Man also had his eyes closed, but
marched straight ahead, nevertheless, and after
he had taken one hundred steps, by actual count,
he stopped and said:

"Now you may open your eyes."

They did so, and to their astonishment found
the wall and the gateway far behind them,
while in front the former Blue Country of the
Munchkins had given way to green fields, with
pretty farm-houses scattered among them.

"That wall," explained the Shaggy Man, "is
what is called an optical illusion. It is quite real
while you have your eyes open, but if you are
not looking at it the barrier doesn't exist at all.
It's the same way with many other evils in life;
they seem to exist, and yet it's all seeming and
not true. You will notice that the wall--or what
we thought was a wall--separates the Munchkin
Country from the green country that surrounds
the Emerald City, which lies exactly in the
center of Oz. There are two roads of yellow
bricks through the Munchkin Country, but the
one we followed is the best of the two. Dorothy
once traveled the other way, and met with more
dangers than we did. But all our troubles are
over for the present, as another day's journey
will bring us to the great Emerald City."

They were delighted to know this, and proceeded
with new courage. In a couple of hours they
stopped at a farmhouse, where the people were very
hospitable and invited them to dinner. The farm
folk regarded Scraps with much curiosity but no
great astonishment, for they were accustomed to
seeing extraordinary people in the Land of Oz.

The woman of this house got her needle and
thread and sewed up the holes made by the
porcupine quills in the Patchwork Girl's body,
after which Scraps was assured she looked as
beautiful as ever.

"You ought to have a hat to wear," remarked
the woman, "for that would keep the sun from
fading the colors of your face. I have some
patches and scraps put away, and if you will
wait two or three days I'll make you a lovely
hat that will match the rest of you."

"Never mind the hat," said Scraps, shaking
her yarn braids; "it's a kind offer, but we can't
stop. I can't see that my colors have faded a
particle, as yet; can you?"

"Not much," replied the woman. "You are still
very gorgeous, in spite of your long journey."

The children of the house wanted to keep the
Glass Cat to play with, so Bungle was offered
a good home if she would remain; but the cat
was too much interested in Ojo's adventures and
refused to stop.

"Children are rough playmates," she remarked to
the Shaggy Man, "and although this home is more
pleasant than that of the Crooked Magician I fear
I would soon be smashed to pieces by the boys and
girls."

After they had rested themselves they renewed
their journey, finding the road now smooth and
pleasant to walk upon and the country growing more
beautiful the nearer they drew to the Emerald
City.

By and by Ojo began to walk on the green
grass, looking carefully around him.

"What are you trying to find?" asked Scraps.

"A six-leaved clover," said he.

"Don't do that!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man,
earnestly. "It's against the Law to pick a six-
leaved clover. You must wait until you get Ozma's
consent."

"She wouldn't know it," declared the boy.

"Ozma knows many things," said the Shaggy Man.
"In her room is a Magic Picture that shows any
scene in the Land of Oz where strangers or
travelers happen to be. She may be watching the
picture of us even now, and noticing everything
that we do."

"Does she always watch the Magic Picture?"
asked Ojo.

"Not always, for she has many other things
to do; but, as I said, she may be watching us
this very minute."

"I don't care," said Ojo, in an obstinate tone
of voice; "Ozma's only a girl."

The Shaggy Man looked at him in surprise.

"You ought to care for Ozma," said he, "if you
expect to save your uncle. For, if you displease
our powerful Ruler, your journey will surely prove
a failure; whereas, if you make a friend of Ozma,
she will gladly assist you. As for her being a
girl, that is another reason why you should obey
her laws, if you are courteous and polite.
Everyone in Oz loves Ozma and hates her enemies,
for she is as just as she is powerful."

Ojo sulked a while, but finally returned to the
road and kept away from the green clover. The
boy was moody and bad tempered for an hour
or two afterward, because he could really see
no harm in picking a six-leaved clover, if he
found one, and in spite of what the Shaggy
Man had said he considered Ozma's law to be
unjust.

They presently came to a beautiful grove of tall
and stately trees, through which the road wound in
sharp curves--first one way and then another. As
they were walking through this grove they heard
some one in the distance singing, and the sounds
grew nearer and nearer until they could
distinguish the words, although the bend in the
road still hid the singer. The song was something
like this:

"Here's to the hale old bale of straw
That's cut from the waving grain,
The sweetest sight man ever saw
In forest, dell or plain.
It fills me with a crunkling joy
A straw-stack to behold,
For then I pad this lucky boy
With strands of yellow gold."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man; "here comes my
friend the Scarecrow."

"What, a live Scarecrow?" asked Ojo.

"Yes; the one I told you of. He's a splendid
fellow, and very intelligent. You'll like him,
I'm sure."

Just then the famous Scarecrow of Oz came
around the bend in the road, riding astride a
wooden Sawhorse which was so small that its
rider's legs nearly touched the ground.

The Scarecrow wore the blue dress of the
Munchkins, in which country he was made,
and on his head was set a peaked hat with a flat
brim trimmed with tinkling bells. A rope was
tied around his waist to hold him in shape, for
he was stuffed with straw in every part of him
except the top of his head, where at one time
the Wizard of Oz had placed sawdust, mixed
with needles and pins, to sharpen his wits. The
head itself was merely a bag of cloth, fastened
to the body at the neck, and on the front of this
bag was painted the face--ears, eyes, nose and
mouth.

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