“Where has he gone?” asked the Wizard quickly.
“I am told he lives in a wickerwork castle in the mountains to the west of here. You see, Ugu became such a powerful magician that he didn’t care to live in our city any longer, for fear we would discover some of his secrets. So he went to the mountains and built himself a splendid wicker castle, which is so strong that even I and my people could not batter it down, and there he lives all by himself.”
“This is good news,” declared the Wizard, “for I think this is just the magician we are searching for. But why is he called Ugu the Shoemaker?”
“Once he was a very common citizen here and made shoes for a living,” replied the monarch of Herku. “But he was descended from the greatest wizard and sorcerer who ever lived—in this or in any other country—and one day Ugu the Shoemaker discovered all the magical books and recipes of his famous great-grandfather, which had been hidden away in the attic of his house. So he began to study the papers and books and to practice magic, and in time he became so skillful that, as I said, he scorned our city and built a solitary castle for himself.”
“Do you think,” asked Dorothy anxiously, “that Ugu the Shoemaker would be wicked enough to steal our Ozma of Oz?”
“And the Magic Picture?” asked Trot.
“And the Great Book of Records of Glinda the Good?” asked Betsy.
“And my own magic tools?” asked the Wizard.
“Well,” replied the Czarover, “I won’t say that Ugu is wicked, exactly, but he is very ambitious to become the most powerful magician in the world, and so I suppose he would not be too proud to steal any magic things that belonged to anybody else—if he could manage to do so.”
“But how about Ozma? Why would he wish to steal her?” questioned Dorothy.
“Don’t ask me, my dear. Ugu doesn’t tell me why he does things, I assure you.”
“Then we must go and ask him ourselves,” declared the little girl.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” advised the Czarover, looking first at the three girls and then at the boy and the little Wizard and finally at the stuffed Patchwork Girl. “If Ugu has really stolen your Ozma, he will probably keep her a prisoner, in spite of all your threats or entreaties. And, with all his magical knowledge, he would be a dangerous person to attack. Therefore, if you are wise, you will go home again and find a new Ruler for the Emerald City and the Land of Oz. But perhaps it isn’t Ugu the Shoemaker who has stolen your Ozma.”
“The only way to settle that question,” replied the Wizard, “is to go to Ugu’s castle and see if Ozma is there. If she is, we will report the matter to the great Sorceress, Glinda the Good, and I’m pretty sure she will find a way to rescue our darling Ruler from the Shoemaker.”
“Well, do as you please,” said the Czarover. “But, if you are all transformed into hummingbirds or caterpillars, don’t blame me for not warning you.”
They stayed the rest of that day in the City of Herku and were fed at the royal table of the Czarover and given sleeping rooms in his palace. The strong monarch treated them very nicely and gave the Wizard a little golden vial of zosozo, to use if ever he or any of his party wished to acquire great strength.
Even at the last the Czarover tried to persuade them not to go near Ugu the Shoemaker, but they were resolved on the venture and the next morning bade the friendly monarch a cordial good-bye and, mounting upon their animals, left the Herkus and the City of Herku and headed for the mountains that lay to the west.
Chapter 13
The TRUTH POND
t seems a long time since we have heard anything of the Frogman and Cayke the Cookie Cook, who had left the Yip Country in search of the diamond-studded dishpan which had been mysteriously stolen the same night that Ozma had disappeared from the Emerald City. But you must remember that while the Frogman and the Cookie Cook were preparing to descend from their mountain-top, and even while on their way to the farm-house of Wiljon the Winkie, Dorothy and the Wizard and their friends were encountering the adventures we have just related.
So it was that on the very morning when the travelers from the Emerald City bade farewell to the Czarover of the City of Herku, Cayke and the Frogman awoke in a grove in which they had passed the night sleeping on beds of leaves. There were plenty of farm-houses in the neighborhood, but no one seemed to welcome the puffy, haughty Frogman or the little dried-up Cookie Cook, and so they slept comfortably enough underneath the trees of the grove.
The Frogman wakened first, on this morning, and after going to the tree where Cayke slept and finding her still wrapped in slumber, he decided to take a little walk and seek some breakfast. Coming to the edge of the grove he observed, half a mile away, a pretty yellow house that was surrounded by a yellow picket fence, so he walked toward this house and on entering the yard found a Winkie woman picking up sticks with which to build a fire to cook her morning meal.
“For goodness sakes!” she exclaimed on seeing the Frogman, “what are you doing out of your frog-pond?”
“I am traveling in search of a jeweled gold dishpan, my good woman,” he replied, with an air of great dignity.
“You won’t find it here, then,” said she. “Our dishpans are tin, and they’re good enough for anybody. So go back to your pond and leave me alone.”
She spoke rather crossly and with a lack of respect that greatly annoyed the Frogman.
“Allow me to tell you, madam,” said he, “that although I am a frog I am the Greatest and Wisest Frog in all the world. I may add that I possess much more wisdom than any Winkie—man or woman—in this land. Wherever I go, people fall on their knees before me and render homage to the Great Frogman! No one else knows so much as I; no one else is so grand—so magnificent!”
“If you know so much,” she retorted, “why don’t you know where your dishpan is, instead of chasing around the country after it?”
“Presently,” he answered, “I am going where it is; but just now I am traveling and have had no breakfast. Therefore I honor you by asking you for something to eat.”
“Oho! the Great Frogman is hungry as any tramp, is he? Then pick up these sticks and help me to build the fire,” said the woman contemptuously.
“Me! The Great Frogman pick up sticks?” he exclaimed in horror. “In the Yip Country, where I am more honored and powerful than any King could be, people weep with joy when I ask them to feed me.”
“Then that’s the place to go for your breakfast,” declared the woman.
“I fear you do not realize my importance,” urged the Frogman. “Exceeding wisdom renders me superior to menial duties.”
“It’s a great wonder to me,” remarked the woman, carrying her sticks to the house, “that your wisdom doesn’t inform you that you’ll get no breakfast here,” and she went in and slammed the door behind her.
The Frogman felt he had been insulted, so he gave a loud croak of indignation and turned away. After going a short distance he came upon a faint path which led across a meadow in the direction of a grove of pretty trees, and thinking this circle of evergreens must surround a house—where perhaps he would be kindly received—he decided to follow the path. And by and by he came to the trees, which were set close together, and pushing aside some branches he found no house inside the circle, but instead a very beautiful pond of clear water.
Now the Frogman, although he was so big and so well educated and now aped the ways and customs of human beings, was still a frog. As he gazed at this solitary, deserted pond, his love for water returned to him with irresistible force.
“If I cannot get a breakfast I may at least have a fine swim,” said he, and pushing his way between the trees he reached the bank. There he took off his fine clothing, laying his shiny purple hat and his gold-headed cane beside it. A moment later he sprang with one leap into the water and dived to the very bottom of the pond.
The water was deliciously cool and grateful to his thick, rough skin, and the Frogman swam around the pond several times be
fore he stopped to rest. Then he floated upon the surface and examined the pond with some curiosity. The bottom and sides were all lined with glossy tiles of a light pink color; just one place in the bottom, where the water bubbled up from a hidden spring, had been left free. On the banks the green grass grew to the edge of the pink tiling.
And now, as the Frogman examined the place, he found that on one side of the pool, just above the water line, had been set a golden plate on which some words were deeply engraved. He swam toward this plate and on reaching it read the following inscription:
This is
THE TRUTH POND
Whoever bathes in this
water must always
afterward tell
THE TRUTH.
This statement startled the Frogman. It even worried him, so that he leaped upon the bank and hurriedly began to dress himself.
“A great misfortune has befallen me,” he told himself, “for hereafter I cannot tell people I am wise, since it is not the truth. The truth is that my boasted wisdom is all a sham, assumed by me to deceive people and make them defer to me. In truth, no living creature can know much more than his fellows, for one may know one thing, and another know another thing, so that wisdom is evenly scattered throughout the world. But—ah me!—what a terrible fate will now be mine. Even Cayke the Cookie Cook will soon discover that my knowledge is no greater than her own; for having bathed in the enchanted water of the Truth Pond, I can no longer deceive her or tell a lie.”
More humbled than he had been for many years, the Frogman went back to the grove where he had left Cayke and found the woman now awake and washing her face in a tiny brook.
“Where has Your Honor been?” she asked.
“To a farm-house to ask for something to eat,” said he, “but the woman refused me.”
“How dreadful!” she exclaimed. “But never mind; there are other houses where the people will be glad to feed the Wisest Creature in all the World.”
“Do you mean yourself?” he asked.
“No, I mean you.”
The Frogman felt strongly impelled to tell the truth, but struggled hard against it. His reason told him there was no use in letting Cayke know he was not wise, for then she would lose much respect for him, but each time he opened his mouth to speak he realized he was about to tell the truth and shut it again as quickly as possible. He tried to talk about something else, but the words necessary to undeceive the woman would force themselves to his lips in spite of all his struggles. Finally, knowing that he must either remain dumb or let the truth prevail, he gave a low groan of despair and said, “Cayke, I am not the Wisest Creature in all the World; I am not wise at all.”
“Oh, you must be!” she protested. “You told me so yourself, only last evening.”
“Then last evening I failed to tell you the truth,” he admitted, looking very shamefaced, for a frog. “I am sorry I told you this lie, my good Cayke; but, if you must know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I am not really as wise as you are.”
The Cookie Cook was greatly shocked to hear this, for it shattered one of her most pleasing illusions. She looked at the gorgeously dressed Frogman in amazement.
“What has caused you to change your mind so suddenly?” she inquired.
“I have bathed in the Truth Pond,” he said, “and whoever bathes in that water is ever afterward obliged to tell the truth.”
“You were foolish to do that,” declared the woman. “It is often very embarrassing to tell the truth. I’m glad I didn’t bathe in that dreadful water!”
The Frogman looked at his companion thoughtfully.
“Cayke,” said he, “I want you to go to the Truth Pond and take a bath in its water. For, if we are to travel together and encounter unknown adventures, it would not be fair that I alone must always tell you the truth, while you could tell me whatever you pleased. If we both dip in the enchanted water there will be no chance in the future of our deceiving one another.”
“No,” she asserted, shaking her head positively, “I won’t do it, Your Honor. For, if I told you the truth, I’m sure you wouldn’t like me. No Truth Pond for me. I’ll be just as I am, an honest woman who can say what she wants to without hurting anyone’s feelings.”
With this decision the Frogman was forced to be content, although he was sorry the Cookie Cook would not listen to his advice.
Chapter 14
The UNHAPPY FERRYMAN
eaving the grove where they had slept, the Frogman and the Cookie Cook turned to the east to seek another house and after a short walk came to one where the people received them very politely. The children stared rather hard at the big, pompous Frogman, but the woman of the house, when Cayke asked for something to eat, at once brought them food and said they were welcome to it.
“Few people in need of help pass this way,” she remarked, “for the Winkies are all prosperous and love to stay in their own homes. But perhaps you are not a Winkie,” she added.
“No,” said Cayke, “I am a Yip, and my home is on a high mountain at the southeast of your country.”
“And the Frogman—is he, also, a Yip?”
“I do not know what he is, other than a very remarkable and highly educated creature,” replied the Cookie Cook. “But he has lived many years among the Yips, who have found him so wise and intelligent that they always go to him for advice.”
“May I ask why you have left your home, and where you are going?” said the Winkie woman.
Then Cayke told her of the diamond-studded gold dishpan and how it had been mysteriously stolen from her house, after which she had discovered that she could no longer cook good cookies. So she had resolved to search until she found her dishpan again, because a Cookie Cook who cannot cook good cookies is not of much use. The Frogman, who had wanted to see more of the world, had accompanied her to assist in the search. When the woman had listened to this story she asked, “Then you have no idea as yet who has stolen your dishpan?”
“I only know it must have been some mischievous fairy, or a magician, or some such powerful person, because none other could have climbed the steep mountain to the Yip Country. And who else could have carried away my beautiful magic dishpan without being seen?”
The woman thought about this during the time that Cayke and the Frogman ate their breakfast. When they had finished, she said, “Where are you going next?”
“We have not decided,” answered the Cookie Cook.
“Our plan,” explained the Frogman, in his important way, “is to travel from place to place until we learn where the thief is located, and then to force him to return the dishpan to its proper owner.”
“The plan is all right,” agreed the woman, “but it may take you a long time before you succeed, your method being sort of haphazard and indefinite. However, I advise you to travel toward the east.”
“Why?” asked the Frogman.
“Because if you went west you would soon come to the desert, and also because in this part of the Winkie Country no one steals, so your time here would be wasted. But toward the east, beyond the river, live many strange people whose honesty I would not vouch for. Moreover, if you journey far enough east and cross the river for a second time, you will come to the Emerald City, where there is much magic and sorcery. The Emerald City is ruled by a dear little girl called Ozma, who also rules the Emperor of the Winkies and all the Land of Oz. So, as Ozma is a fairy, she may be able to tell you just who has taken your precious dishpan. Provided, of course, you do not find it before you reach her.”
“This seems to me to be excellent advice,” said the Frogman, and Cayke agreed with him.
“The most sensible thing for you to do,” continued the woman, “would be to return to your home and use another dishpan, learning to cook cookies as other people cook cookies, without the aid of magic. But, if you cannot be happy without the magic dishpan you have lost, you are likely to learn more about it in the Emerald City than at any other place in Oz.”
They thanked the good woman and on leaving her house faced the east and continued in that direction all the way. Toward evening they came to the west branch of the Winkie River and there, on the river bank, found a ferryman who lived all alone in a little yellow house.
This ferryman was a Winkie with a very small head and a very large body. He was sitting in his doorway as the travelers approached him and did not even turn his head to look at them.
“Good evening,” said the Frogman.
The ferryman made no reply.
“We would like some supper and the privilege of sleeping in your house until morning,” continued the Frogman. “At daybreak we would like some breakfast and then we would like to have you row us across the river.”
The ferryman neither moved nor spoke. He sat in his doorway and looked straight ahead.
“I think he must be deaf and dumb,” Cayke whispered to her companion. Then she stood directly in front of the ferryman and putting her mouth close to his ear she yelled as loudly as she could, “Good evening!”
The ferryman scowled.
“Why do you yell at me, woman?” he asked.
“Can you hear what I say?” she asked in her ordinary tone of voice.
“Of course,” replied the man.
“Then why didn’t you answer the Frogman?”
“Because,” said the ferryman; “I don’t understand the frog language.”
“He speaks the same words that I do and in the same way,” declared Cayke.
“Perhaps,” replied the ferryman, “but to me his voice sounded like a frog’s croak. I know that in the Land of Oz animals can speak our language, and so can the birds and bugs and fishes; but in my ears, they sound merely like growls and chirps and croaks.”
“Why is that?” asked the Cookie Cook in surprise.
“Once, many years ago, I cut the tail off a fox which had taunted me; and I stole some birds’ eggs from a nest to make an omelet with, and also I pulled a fish from the river and left it lying on the bank to gasp for lack of water until it died. I don’t know why I did those wicked things, but I did them. So the Emperor of the Winkies—who is the Tin Woodman and has a very tender tin heart—punished me by denying me any communication with beasts, birds or fishes. I cannot understand them when they speak to me, although I know that other people can do so, nor can the creatures understand a word I say to them. Every time I meet one of them I am reminded of my former cruelty, and it makes me very unhappy.”
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