Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “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.”

  “Really,” said Cayke, “I’m sorry for you, although the Tin Woodman is not to blame for punishing you.”

  “What is he mumbling about?” asked the Frogman.

  “He is talking to me, but you don’t understand him,” she replied. And then she told him of the ferryman’s punishment and afterward explained to the ferryman that they wanted to stay all night with him and be fed.

  He gave them some fruit and bread, which was the only sort of food he had, and he allowed Cayke to sleep in a room of his cottage. But the Frogman he refused to admit to his house, saying that the frog’s presence made him miserable and unhappy. At no time would he look directly at the Frogman, or even toward him, fearing he would shed tears if he did so; so the big frog slept on the river bank, where he could hear little frogs croaking in the river all the night through. But that did not keep him awake; it merely soothed him to slumber, for he realized how much superior he was to them.

  Just as the sun was rising on a new day the ferryman rowed the two travelers across the river — keeping his back to the Frogman all the way — and then Cayke thanked him and bade him good-bye and the ferryman rowed home again.

  On this side the river there were no paths at all, so it was evident they had reached a part of the country little frequented by travelers. There was a marsh at the south of them, sandhills at the north and a growth of scrubby underbrush leading toward a forest at the east. So the east was really the least difficult way to go and that direction was the one they had determined to follow.

  Now the Frogman, although he wore green patent-leather shoes with ruby buttons, had very large and flat feet, and when he tramped through the scrub his weight crushed down the underbrush and made a path for Cayke to follow him. Therefore they soon reached the forest, where the tall trees were set far apart but were so leafy that they shaded all the spaces between them with their branches.

  “There are no bushes here,” said Cayke, much pleased, “so we can now travel faster and with more comfort.”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was a pleasant

  place to wander in

  and the two travelers

  were proceeding

  at a brisk pace when suddenly a voice shouted:

  “Halt!”

  They looked around in surprise, seeing at first no one at all. Then from behind a tree there stepped a brown fuzzy bear, whose head came about as high as Cayke’s waist — and Cayke was a small woman. The bear was chubby as well as fuzzy; his body was even puffy, while his legs and arms seemed jointed at the knees and elbows and fastened to his body by pins or rivets. His ears were round in shape and stuck out in a comical way, while his round black eyes were bright and sparkling as beads. Over his shoulder the little brown bear bore a gun with a tin barrel. The barrel had a cork in the end of it and a string was attached to the cork and to the handle of the gun.

  Both the Frogman and Cayke gazed hard at this curious bear, standing silent for some time. But finally the Frogman recovered from his surprise and remarked:

  “It seems to me that you are stuffed with sawdust and ought not to be alive.”

  “That’s all you know about it,” answered the little Brown Bear in a squeaky voice. “I am stuffed with a very good quality of curled hair and my skin is the best plush that was ever made. As for my being alive, that is my own affair and cannot concern you at all — except that it gives me the privilege to say you are my prisoners.”

  “Prisoners! Why do you speak such nonsense?” asked the Frogman angrily. “Do you think we are afraid of a toy bear with a toy gun?”

  “You ought to be,” was the confident reply, “for I am merely the sentry guarding the way to Bear Center, which is a city containing hundreds of my race, who are ruled by a very powerful sorcerer known as the Lavender Bear. He ought to be a purple color, you know, seeing he is a King, but he’s only light lavender, which is, of course, second-cousin to royal purple. So, unless you come with me peaceably, as my prisoners, I shall fire my gun and bring a hundred bears — of all sizes and colors — to capture you.”

  “Why do you wish to capture us?” inquired the Frogman, who had listened to this speech with much astonishment.

  “I don’t wish to, as a matter of fact,” replied the little Brown Bear, “but it is my duty to, because you are now trespassing on the domain of His Majesty the King of Bear Center. Also I will admit that things are rather quiet in our city, just now, and the excitement of your capture, followed by your trial and execution, should afford us much entertainment.”

  “We defy you!” said the Frogman.

  “Oh, no; don’t do that,” pleaded Cayke, speaking to her companion. “He says his King is a sorcerer, so perhaps it is he or one of his bears who ventured to steal my jeweled dishpan. Let us go to the City of the Bears and discover if my dishpan is there.”

  “I must now register one more charge against you,” remarked the little Brown Bear, with evident satisfaction. “You have just accused us of stealing, and that is such a dreadful thing to say that I am quite sure our noble Ki
ng will command you to be executed.”

  “But how could you execute us?” inquired the Cookie Cook.

  “I’ve no idea. But our King is a wonderful inventor and there is no doubt he can find a proper way to destroy you. So, tell me, are you going to struggle, or will you go peaceably to meet your doom?”

  It was all so ridiculous that Cayke laughed aloud and even the Frogman’s wide mouth curled in a smile. Neither was a bit afraid to go to the Bear City and it seemed to both that there was a possibility they might discover the missing dishpan. So the Frogman said:

  “Lead the way, little Bear, and we will follow without a struggle.”

  “That’s very sensible of you; very sensible, indeed!” declared the Brown Bear. “So — for-ward march!” and with the command he turned around and began to waddle along a path that led between the trees.

  Cayke and the Frogman, as they followed their conductor, could scarce forbear laughing at his stiff, awkward manner of walking and, although he moved his stuffy legs fast, his steps were so short that they had to go slowly in order not to run into him. But after a time they reached a large, circular space in the center of the forest, which was clear of any stumps or underbrush. The ground was covered by a soft gray moss, pleasant to tread upon. All the trees surrounding this space seemed to be hollow and had round holes in their trunks, set a little way above the ground, but otherwise there was nothing unusual about the place and nothing, in the opinion of the prisoners, to indicate a settlement. But the little Brown Bear said in a proud and impressive voice (although it still squeaked):

  “This is the wonderful city known to fame as Bear Center!”

  “But there are no houses; there are no bears living here at all!” exclaimed Cayke.

  “Oh, indeed!” retorted their captor and raising his gun he pulled the trigger. The cork flew out of the tin barrel with a loud “pop!” and at once from every hole in every tree within view of the clearing appeared the head of a bear. They were of many colors and of many sizes, but all were made in the same manner as the bear who had met and captured them.

  At first a chorus of growls arose and then a sharp voice cried:

  “What has happened, Corporal Waddle?”

  “Captives, Your Majesty!” answered the Brown Bear. “Intruders upon our domain and slanderers of our good name.”

  “Ah, that’s important,” answered the voice.

  Then from out the hollow trees tumbled a whole regiment of stuffed bears, some carrying tin swords, some popguns and others long spears with gay ribbons tied to the handles. There were hundreds of them, altogether, and they quickly formed a circle around the Frogman and the Cookie Cook but kept at a distance and left a large space for the prisoners to stand in.

  Presently this circle parted and into the center of it stalked a huge toy bear of a lovely lavender color. He walked upon his hind legs, as did all the others, and on his head he wore a tin crown set with diamonds and amethysts, while in one paw he carried a short wand of some glittering metal that resembled silver but wasn’t.

  “His Majesty the King!” shouted Corporal Waddle, and all the bears bowed low. Some bowed so low that they lost their balance and toppled over, but they soon scrambled up again and the Lavender King squatted on his haunches before the prisoners and gazed at them steadily with his bright pink eyes.

  CHAPTER 16

  “One Person and

  one Freak,” said

  the big Lavender

  Bear, when he had

  carefully examined the strangers.

  “I am sorry to hear you call poor Cayke the Cookie Cook a Freak,” remonstrated the Frogman.

  “She is the Person,” asserted the King. “Unless I am mistaken, it is you who are the Freak.”

  The Frogman was silent, for he could not truthfully deny it.

  “Why have you dared intrude in my forest?” demanded the Bear King.

  “We didn’t know it was your forest,” said Cayke, “and we are on our way to the far east, where the Emerald City is.”

  “Ah, it’s a long way from here to the Emerald City,” remarked the King. “It is so far away, indeed, that no bear among us has ever been there. But what errand requires you to travel such a distance?”

  “Someone has stolen my diamond-studded gold dishpan,” explained Cayke; “and, as I cannot be happy without it, I have decided to search the world over until I find it again. The Frogman, who is very learned and wonderfully wise, has come with me to give me his assistance. Isn’t it kind of him?”

  The King looked at the Frogman.

  “What makes you so wonderfully wise?” he asked.

  “I’m not,” was the candid reply. “The Cookie Cook, and some others in the Yip Country, think because I am a big frog and talk and act like a man, that I must be very wise. I have learned more than a frog usually knows, it is true, but I am not yet so wise as I hope to become at some future time.”

  The King nodded, and when he did so something squeaked in his chest.

  “Did Your Majesty speak?” asked Cayke.

  “Not just then,” answered the Lavender Bear, seeming to be somewhat embarrassed. “I am so built, you must know, that when anything pushes against my chest, as my chin accidentally did just then, I make that silly noise. In this city it isn’t considered good manners to notice it. But I like your Frogman. He is honest and truthful, which is more than can be said of many others. As for your late lamented dishpan, I’ll show it to you.”

  With this he waved three times the metal wand which he held in his paw and instantly there appeared upon the ground, midway between the King and Cayke, a big round pan made of beaten gold. Around the top edge was a row of small diamonds; around the center of the pan was another row of larger diamonds; and at the bottom was a row of exceedingly large and brilliant diamonds. In fact, they all sparkled magnificently and the pan was so big and broad that it took a lot of diamonds to go around it three times.

  Cayke stared so hard that her eyes seemed about to pop out of her head.

  “O-o-o-oh!” she exclaimed, drawing a deep breath of delight.

  “Is this your dishpan?” inquired the King.

  “It is — it is!” cried the Cookie Cook, and rushing forward she fell on her knees and threw her arms around the precious pan. But her arms came together without meeting any resistance at all. Cayke tried to seize the edge, but found nothing to grasp. The pan was surely there, she thought, for she could see it plainly; but it was not solid; she could not feel it at all. With a moan of astonishment and despair she raised her head to look at the Bear King, who was watching her actions curiously. Then she turned to the pan again, only to find it had completely disappeared.

  “Poor creature!” murmured the King pityingly. “You must have thought, for the moment, that you had actually recovered your dishpan. But what you saw was merely the image of it, conjured up by means of my magic. It is a pretty dishpan, indeed, though rather big and awkward to handle. I hope you will some day find it.”

  Cayke was grievously disappointed. She began to cry, wiping her eyes on her apron. The King turned to the throng of toy bears surrounding him and asked:

  “Has any of you ever seen this golden dishpan before?”

  “No,” they answered in a chorus.

  The King seemed to reflect. Presently he inquired:

  “Where is the Little Pink Bear?”

  “At home, Your Majesty,” was the reply, “Fetch him here,” commanded the King.

  Several of the bears waddled over to one of the trees and pulled from its hollow a tiny pink bear, smaller than any of the others. A big white bear carried the pink one in his arms and set it down beside the King, arranging the joints of its legs so that it would stand upright.

  This Pink Bear seemed lifeless until the King turned a crank which protruded from its side, when the little creature turned its head stiffly from side to side and said in a small shrill voice:

  “Hurrah for the King of Bear Center!”

  “Ver
y good,” said the big Lavender Bear; “he seems to be working very well to-day. Tell me, my Pink Pinkerton, what has become of this lady’s jeweled dishpan?”

  “U — u — u,” said the Pink Bear, and then stopped short.

  The King turned the crank again.

  “U-g-u the Shoemaker has it,” said the Pink Bear.

  “Who is Ugu the Shoemaker?” demanded the King, again turning the crank.

  “A magician who lives on a mountain in a wickerwork castle,” was the reply.

  “Where is this mountain?” was the next question.

  “Nineteen miles and three furlongs from Bear Center to the northeast.”

  “And is the dishpan still at the castle of Ugu the Shoemaker?” asked the King.

  “It is.”

  The King turned to Cayke.

  “You may rely on this information,” said he. “The Pink Bear can tell us anything we wish to know, and his words are always words of truth.”

  “Is he alive?” asked the Frogman, much interested in the Pink Bear.

  “Something animates him — when you turn his crank,” replied the King. “I do not know if it is life, or what it is, or how it happens that the Little Pink Bear can answer correctly every question put to him. We discovered his talent a long time ago and whenever we wish to know anything — which is not very often — we ask the Pink Bear. There is no doubt whatever, madam, that Ugu the Magician has your dishpan, and if you dare go to him you may be able to recover it. But of that I am not certain.”

  “Can’t the Pink Bear tell?” asked Cayke anxiously.

  “No, for that is in the future. He can tell anything that has happened, but nothing that is going to happen. Don’t ask me why, for I don’t know.”

  “Well,” said the Cookie Cook, after a little thought, “I mean to go to this magician, anyhow, and tell him I want my dishpan. I wish I knew what Ugu the Shoemaker is like.”