“Dear me,” said the Duchess, when she was left alone; “I am sure I shall never be able to understand these strange people. But I mean to sit down, anyway, and if it really is a long time before dinner, I shall probably starve in the meantime.”
She had not rested more than a few minutes, however, before the lady again put her foot through the window, and waving it invitingly toward her exclaimed: “Go away to dinner.”
“Go away!” replied the Duchess in dismay; “where shall I go to?”
“Why, to me, of course,” answered Upsydoun’s mother, dumbly; but she winked her nose thoughtfully, as if she scarcely knew how to converse with her strange visitor. Surely Bredenbutta ought to know that when they said “go” in Turvyland, they meant “come.”
In spite of her uncertainty, she followed her hostess, and when they entered the dining-room the Duchess was shocked to see all the family stand on their heads on the chairs and pick up their knives and forks with their toes. She was more horrified, however, when they began to eat; for, contrary to all custom, these people placed their food in their ears. And they did it so calmly that she did not even remonstrate, remembering it must be their habit to eat in this way.
She, herself, sat down in her chair in a proper manner, and began to eat with the fork in her hand; and when the people of Turvyland saw this, they all shed tears of merriment.
Just then the youngest child of the family began laughing, and the mother rushed to it as fast as her hands could carry her, to see what was the matter. But the child had only put its foot into its pocket and could not get it out again. The mother soon managed to get it free, and then the child stopped laughing and began weeping as happily as any of the others.
Bredenbutta was greatly bewildered at all this, but she ate heartily, nevertheless, and after having begged her in vain to stand on her head, as they did, the family let her alone, being surprised to see how well she could use her hands. After dinner Upsydoun’s sister played on the piano with her toes, while the others indulged in a dance, whirling around on their thumbs in a manner truly marvelous, and seeming, by their tears, to enjoy themselves very much.
As the dance ended a kitten came running into the room on its ears and the tip of its tail, and this looked so funny that Bredenbutta began laughing. But seeing she had frightened her kind friends, who wanted to send for a doctor, she refrained from laughing, and asked, gravely, if she could not find a way to return to the Valley of Mo.
“The only possible way of getting down there,” replied Upsydoun, “is to jump into the Rootbeer River; but that would be dangerous, and none of our people have ever tried it”
“Any danger,” said the Duchess, “I will gladly brave; for otherwise I shall be obliged to spend my entire life down here, among people whose ways are exactly opposite to my own. If you will kindly take me to the river I shall lose no time in making an effort to return home.”
They good-naturedly assented to this, and walked backward with her until they came to the place where the river bubbled up. It really did bubble up, Bredenbutta noticed, although she knew very well she had fallen down the Great Hole. But, then, everything was topsyturvy in this strange land.
The girl found her little boat, which had stranded on the beach, and having placed it where she could push it into the river, she turned to say good by to the queer people of Turvyland.
“I am glad to see you go,” said Upsydoun, without speaking, “for I like you. But you are a strange creature, and perhaps know what is best for you. Here are some oars for your boat, for I see you have none, and when you get down to your country you may need them.”
Bredenbutta joyfully accepted the oars, and placed them in her boat. Then the people of Turvyland all kissed her with their left ears and waved their toes in farewell, while the Duchess got into the boat and pushed it out into the river
Instantly she was in the midst of such a whirling of foam and rushing and roaring of rootbeer that she could neither see nor hear anything. Gasping for breath, the girl clung tightly to the sides of the boat, and in a few minutes it was all over, and the boat bobbed up in the Valley of Mo — just above the Great Hole. Bredenbutta then seized the oars and rowed hard until there was no danger of her falling in again, and soon she had passed the rapids and was rowing safely up the river to her own home.
Of course the Duchess was very glad again to be among the people who acted in a natural manner, instead of the absurd fashion of her friends, the Turvylanders. She resolved that whenever she rowed her boat upon the river again, she would be careful to keep away from the Great Hole, for she realized that another visit to Upsydoun and his people would be very trying to her nerves.
THE ELEVENTH SURPRISE: PRINCE FIDDLECUMDOO AND THE GIANT
One morning, that the Monarch of Mo was not in his usual pleasant humor; and, of course, there was an excellent reason for this.
At the back of his garden grew one tree that generally bore an abundant crop of animal-crackers, and although the King and his court, being surfeited with all the dainties of the land, did not care much for these edibles, the younger inhabitants of Mo were especially fond of them, and yelled with delight whenever the King divided the crop of his tree among them.
A few days before the King had examined the tree and found the animal-crackers not quite ripe. Whereupon he had gone away and forgotten all about them. And, in his absence, they had ripened to a delicious light brown; and their forms had rounded out, so that they hung as thickly together as peas in a pod. As they swung from their stems, swaying backward and forward in the light breeze, they waited and waited for some one to come and pick them. But no one came near the tree, and the animals grew cross and restless in consequence.
“I wonder when we shall be gathered,” remarked a hippopotamus-cracker, with a yawn.
“Oh, you wonder, do you?” mockingly replied a camel-cracker hanging near, “do you really expect any one to gather you, with your thick hide and clumsy legs? Why, the children would break their teeth on you at the first bite.”
“What!” screamed the hippopotamus, in much anger, “do you dare insult me, you humpbacked beast of burden?”
“Now then — now then!” interrupted a wolf-cracker that hung from a stem just above them; “what’s the use of fighting, when we are so soon to be eaten?”
But the camel-cracker would not be appeased.
“Thick-headed brute!” he yelled at the hippopotamus, angrily.
“Hump-backed idiot!” shrieked the other.
At this the camel swung himself fiercely on his branch, and bumped against the hippopotamus, knocking him off from the tree. The ground underneath was chocolate, and it was soft and sticky, not having dried since the last rain. So when the hippopotamus fell he sank half way into the ground, and his beautiful brown color was spattered with the muddy chocolate.
At this vengeful deed on the part of the camel all the other animals became furious. A full-grown goat-cracker swung himself against the camel and knocked it, in turn, from its stem; and in falling on the ground it broke its hump off. Then a lion-cracker knocked the goat down, and an elephant knocked a cat down, and soon the whole tree was in a violent commotion. The animals fought with each other so desperately that before long the entire treeful of animal-crackers had fallen to the ground, where many lay broken and disfigured, and the remainder were sunk deep in the chocolate mud.
So when the King, finally remembering his tree, came and looked on the sorry sight, it dampened his usual good spirits, and he heartily wished he had picked the quarrelsome crackers before they began to fight among themselves.
While he stood thinking dismally on this, up came Prince Fiddlecumdoo and asked permission to go on a journey.
“Where do you wish to go?” asked the King.
“I am tired of this beautiful Valley,” answered Fiddlecumdoo, “and as the bicycle tree beside the Crystal Lake is now hanging full of ripe wheels, I thought I would gather one and ride over into the next valley in search of adven
ture.” You see, this Prince was the King’s youngest son, and had been rather spoiled by petting, as youngest sons often are.
“The next valley, my son, is inhabited by the giant Hartilaf,” said the King, “and should you meet him he might do you an injury.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of Hartilaf,” replied Fiddlecumdoo, boldly. “If he should not be pleasant to me, I could run away from him on my wheel.”
“I don’t know about that,” responded the King. “There may be bicycle trees in the next valley, as well as here; and it is always dangerous and foolish for any one to leave this Valley, where there is everything that heart could wish. Instead of running away in search of adventures, you would do better to remain at home and help your mother pick collar buttons and neckties for the family.”
“That is work,” said Fiddlecumdoo, sulkily, “and I hate work.”
“Yet somebody has to pick the collar buttons,” returned the King, “or we should be unable to keep our collars on.”
“Then let Jollikin help my mother. I am horribly tired of this stupid place, and shall not be happy until I have traveled around and seen something more of the world.”
“Well, well! go if you wish,” answered the King, impatiently. “But take care of yourself, for when you are away from this Valley there will be no one to protect you from danger.”
“I can take care of myself,” cried the Prince, “so do not worry about me,” and he ran away quickly, before his father had time to change his mind and withdraw his consent.
He selected the best and ripest bicycle on the tree, and, having mounted it, was soon speeding away along the path to the mountains.
When he reached the far eastern part of Mo he came on a bush bearing a very good quality of violins, and this at once attracted Fiddlecumdoo, who was a most excellent violinist, being able to play correctly a great number of tunes. So he dismounted and selected from the bush a small violin that seemed to have a sweet tone. This he carried with him, under his arm, thinking if he became lonesome he could amuse himself with the music.
Shortly after resuming his journey he came to the Maple Plains, a level stretch of country composed entirely of maple sugar. These plains were quite smooth, and very pleasant to ride on; but so swiftly did his bicycle carry him that he soon crossed the plains and came on a river of pure maple syrup, so wide and deep that he could neither leap nor swim it.
Dismounting from his bicycle the Prince began looking for some means of crossing the river. No bridge was visible in either direction, and the bank was bare save for a few low bushes on which grew maple bonbons and maple caramels.
But Prince Fiddlecumdoo did not mean to be turned back by so small a matter as a river, so he scooped a hole in the maple sand, and having filled it with syrup from the river, lighted a match and began boiling it. After it had boiled for a time the maple syrup became stringy, and the Prince quickly threw a string of it across the river. It hardened almost immediately, and on this simple bridge the Prince rode over the stream.
Once on the other side he sped up the mountain and over the top into the next valley, where, he stopped and began to look about him.
He could see no roads in any direction, but away down at the foot of the valley was a monstrous house, so big you could easily put a small village inside it, including the church. This, Fiddlecumdoo thought, must be where the giant lived; and, although he saw no one about the house, he decided to make a call and introduce himself to Mr. Hartilaf. So he rode slowly down the valley, playing on his violin as he went, that the music might announce his coming.
The giant Hartilaf was lying on the sofa in his sitting-room, waiting for his wife to prepare the dinner; and he had nearly fallen asleep when the sound of Fiddlecumdoo’s music fell on his ear. This was so unusual in his valley that the giant arose and went to the front door to see what caused it.
The Prince had by this time nearly reached the house, and when the giant appeared he was somewhat startled, as he had not expected to see any one quite so big. But he took care not to show any fear, and, taking off his hat, he bowed politely to the giant and said:
“This is Mr. Hartilaf, I suppose?”
“That is my name,” replied the giant, grinning at the small size of his visitor. “May I ask who you are?”
“I am Prince Fiddlecumdoo, and I live in the next valley, which is called the Valley of Mo. Being determined to see something of the world, I am traveling for pleasure, and have just dropped in on you for a friendly call.”
“You are very welcome, I am sure,” returned the giant. “If you will graciously step into my humble home I shall be glad to entertain you at dinner.”
Prince Fiddlecumdoo bowed low and accepted the invitation, but when he endeavored to enter the house he found the steps so big that even the first one was higher than his head, and he could not climb to the top of it.
Seeing his difficulty the giant carefully picked him up with one finger and his thumb, and put him down on the palm of his other hand.
“Do not leave my bicycle,” said the Prince, “for should anything happen to it I could not get home again.”
So the giant put the bicycle in his vest pocket, and then he entered the house and walked to the kitchen, where his wife was engaged preparing the dinner.
“Guess what I’ve found,” said the giant to his wife, holding his hand doubled up so she could not see the Prince.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered the woman.
“But, guess!” pleaded the giant.
“Go away and don’t bother me,” she replied, bending over the stewpan, “or you won’t have any dinner to-day.”
The giant, however, was in a merry mood, and for a joke he suddenly opened his hand and dropped the Prince down his wife’s neck.
“Oh, oh!” she screamed, trying to get at the place where the Prince had fallen, which was near the small of her back. “What is it? I’m sure it’s some horrible crocodile, or dragon, or something that will bite me!” And the poor woman lay down on the carpet and began to kick her heels against the floor in terror.
The giant roared with laughter, but the Prince, now being able to crawl out, scrambled from the lady’s neck, and, standing beside her head, he made a low bow and said:
“Do not be afraid, Madam; it is only I. But I must say it was a very ungallant trick for your husband to play on you, to say nothing of my feelings in the matter.”
“So it was,” she exclaimed, getting upon her feet again, and staring curiously at Fiddlecumdoo. “But tell me who you are and where you came from.”
The giant, having enjoyed his laugh, now introduced the Prince to his wife, and as dinner was ready to serve they sat down at the table together.
Fiddlecumdoo got along very well at dinner, for the giant thoughtfully placed him on the top of the table, where he could walk around as he pleased. There being no knife nor fork small enough for him to use, the Prince took one of the giant’s toothpicks, which was as big as a sword, and with this served himself from the various dishes that stood on the table.
When the meal was over the giant lighted his pipe, the bowl of which was as big as a barrel, and asked Fiddlecumdoo if he would kindly favor them with some music.
“Certainly,” replied the Prince.
“Please come into the kitchen,” said the giantess, “for then I can listen to the music while I am washing the dishes.”
The prince did not like to refuse this request, although at home he was not allowed to enter his mother’s kitchen; so the giant carried him in and placed him on a high shelf, where Fiddlecumdoo seated himself on a spool of thread and began to play his violin.
The big people enjoyed the music very much at first, for the Prince was a capital player. But soon came a disagreeable interruption.
About a month before the giant had caught several dancing-bears in the mountains, and, having brought them home, had made them into strings of sausages. These were hanging in graceful festoons from the beams of the kitchen ceiling
, awaiting the time when they should be eaten.
Now when the dancing-bear sausages heard the music of Fiddlecumdoo’s violin, they could not resist dancing; for it is well known that sausages made from real dancing-bears can not remain quiet where there is music. The Prince was playing such a lively tune, that presently the strings of sausage broke away from the ceiling and fell clattering to the floor, where they danced about furiously. Not being able to see where they were going, they bumped against the giant and his wife, thumping them on their heads and backs, and pounding them so severely that the woman became frightened and hid under the table, while the giant started to run away.
Seeing their plight, Fiddlecumdoo stopped playing, and at once the sausages fell to the floor and lay still.
“That was strange,” said the giant, as soon as he could catch his breath; “the bears evidently do not forget how to dance even after they are chopped up into sausage meat. I must beg you to abandon your concert for the present, but before you visit us again we shall have eaten the sausages, and then you may play to your heart’s content.”
“Had I known they were so lively,” remarked the giantess, as she crawled from beneath the table, “we should have eaten them before this.”
“That reminds me that I intended to have stewed polar bears for supper,” continued the giant; “so I think I will walk over into Alaska and catch some.”
“Perhaps the Prince would prefer elephant pie,” suggested the lady, “and in that case you might make a run into South America for elephants.”
“I have no choice in the matter,” said the Prince, “never having eaten either. But is it not rather a long journey to Alaska or to South America?”
“Not at all!” protested the giant. “I shall enjoy the walk, and can easily be back by sundown. Won’t you come with me?” he asked the boy. But Fiddlecumdoo did not like the idea of so long a journey, and begged to be excused.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 219