“Aha! Because he knew if he did he’d disappear entirely. That was part of the trick,” shrilled
Mombi. “Wasn’t it, old feather head?”
“Yes, it’s better to be a goose than nothing at all,” admitted Pajuka mournfully. “But never mind, when we find the King, he will restore Mombi’s powers and she will restore my elegant figure and
“Oh, hold your bill,” snapped Mombi crossly.
Looking very ruffled, Pajuka retired to the other side of the fire, where he and Snip conversed in low tones, while Mombi cleared away the supper and began her endless experiments in the old black frying pan.
“I should think in some ways, being a goose would be rather nice,” observed Snip, looking inquisitively at Pajuka. “Having wings for instance, and never needing to get undressed or have your hair
cut.”
“Well,” agreed Pajuka slowly, “feathers are more convenient than clothes and while the life of a goose is very simple, it is not all unpleasant. I’ve enjoyed flying a lot, and I never need to worry about rubbers or carrying an umbrella. But after all,” Pajuka sighed and gazed sadly into the fire, “after all, my boy, there is nothing like being yourself.”
Snip considered this for a little while in silence, trying to fancy himself in Pajuka’s place. “Well, what do you miss the most?” he inquired suddenly. Pajuka had one eye shut and was preparing to close the other, but at Snip’s words both flew wide open.
“My pockets,” gasped Pajuka, with a great groan. “What is a man without his pockets? No place to put his hands or his bills!” Clapping his wing to his side, Pajuka looked tragically at Snip, and Snip patting his own bulging pockets-pockets full of cake crumbs, marbles, pencil stubs and string-nodded sympathetically. “And not only that,” continued the goose in a grieved voice, “I waken at such ridiculous hours. Hah, hoh! I find myself falling asleep.” Pajuka paused here for a simply tremendous yawn. “Right after supper, Hoh hum!” finished the goose apologetically. Then, tucking his head under his wing and drawing up one leg, he fell fast asleep before Snip could ask him another question.
Pajuka was so close to the fire that the little button boy was afraid he would singe his feathers. So, picking him up carefully, he set him back against a gnarled old tree and, curling up on a pile of leaves beside him, lay watching old Mombi. The wind fortunately was blowing away from him, or he certainly would have been choked by the awful mixtures in the black frying pan. If he had not known positively that her magic powers were gone, he would have taken to his heels at once, for the monsters that Mombi was trying to conjure up out of the frying pan, would have devoured him in a minute.
“Magicum squadgicum squidgicum squdge I order a snooch to come out of this smudge!”
Mombi frowned darkly as she hissed this, but only a dense smoke rose from the frying pan, and after listening nervously to ten separate incantations and finding that nothing at all happened, Snip curled down among the leaves and was soon as fast asleep as Pajuka-asleep -and dreaming he, himself, was a goose being chased up a pink mountain by a giant with a blue ax.
Mombi continued her experiments with the frying pan long after Snip and Pajuka were asleep, but finally she gave up in disgust and then she, too, lay down for a nap, which lasted until dawn.
CHAPTER 5
The Rolling Hoopers
SNIP was awakened by a tickling feeling of his nose and, opening his eyes, saw Pajuka standing over him with a big bunch of grapes in his bill. “Hello!” yawned Snip, sitting up and rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Is it morning?”
Pajuka dropped the grapes into his lap. “Half past it. Been up since five, had a fly and a swim and brought you these for breakfast,” clucked the goose, who seemed to be in a fine humor. “Mombi’s eaten all the rest of the chicken herself, the old Scundermutch!”
The sun filtered down cheerily through the treetops and a fresh little breeze had set all the forest leaves to dancing. Snip, himself, felt curiously light hearted and gay. Perhaps it was the long sleep he had had in the open, or the friendly presence of Pajuka, or the thought of the strange adventures that lay ahead. Anyway, he jumped up with a will and even the scowl old Mombi gave him failed to dampen his spirits. She had already prepared and eaten her breakfast and was beating out the fire with her shoe. Following Pajuka to a small sparkling brook, Snip splashed his face and hands vigorously, ate his grapes and a large sugar bun that the thoughtful Pajuka had plucked from a nearby bun bush. By this time Mombi had her basket packed and, shaking her stick crossly, announced it was time to start.
“Which way are we going?” asked Snip, taking the basket and falling into step beside her.
“My way!” snapped Mombi fiercely.
“Well, that’s a witch way, isn t it,,, observed Pajuka, flopping along a few feet overhead and winking down slyly at Snip, as he plodded down the road.
“Hold your bill,” snapped Mombi, hobbling along so fast that the little button boy had to skip to keep pace with her. “I told you last night we were going to the Emerald City.”
“But I thought you were banished from there forever,” put in Snip, who knew his Oz history by
heart.
“I shall disguise myself,” shrilled Mombi triumphantly. “I’ll pretend I’m a market woman selling a fat goose and while I’m arguing with the cook, Pajuka shall fly into the palace and steal some of Ozma’s magic.”
“How do you know I shall?” honked Pajuka sulkily. “Ozma has never done me any harm. The thing for us to do is to find the King. Once we’ve come to the little wood where you transformed him you’ll remember where he is. Why, maybe we’ll find him before then.”
“Yes, but what good will it do if I don’t remember my magic,” sniffed Mombi. “Unless you want to be a goose for the rest of your life, you’d better make up your mind to do what I say. As for you,” the old witch whirled angrihy upon Snip, “any more of this supposing and I’ll turn you to a six pence and spend you at the first village.”
Snip merely whistled and turned up his nose at this, for he knew perfectly well Mombi could not carry out her threat. Besides Snip had a plan of his own. The little button boy had decided that as soon as they reached the famous capitol of Oz he would slip away from Mombi and tell Princess Ozma the whole story. Then she herself could use her magic to help Pajuka find the King. So he stepped jauntily along, paying no attention to Mombi’s mutterings, looking curiously to the right and left and thinking how much he should have to tell Kinda Jolly when he returned to Kimbaloo.
The forest, like all the northern lands of Oz, was slightly tinged with purple, the national color of the Gillikens. Pansies and tall purple flags grew around the bases of the giant trees and here and there clusters of violets nodded their pretty little heads in the breeze. Purple birds darted through the leaves overhead and the air was sweet from hidden beds of lavendar, so that nothing could have been pleasanter than the first part of the day’s journey. But toward noon they reached a portion of the forest so dark and impenetrable that they had to go single file, and even then had great difficulty in forcing their way through the trees and dense underbrush.
Growls and roars added still further to their discomforts, until Snip, feeling in his pocket for his trusty pen knife, began to wish himself safely back in the button wood. Pajuka half ran and waddled after him, giving every now and then a great flop of terror as a particularly fierce roar came echoing through the forest. Mombi, alone, seemed perfectly unconcerned and hobbled ahead whacking branches and bushes out of the way with her crooked stick.
“Must be lunch time,” she called back hoarsely over her shoulder.
“Howja guess?” panted Pajuka, keeping as close to Snip as he could, for he was terribly
frightened.
“Don’t you hear the lions?” asked the old witch maliciously.
“Merciful feathers!” gasped the goose. “Have I come all this way to be a lion’s lunch?”
“Here comes one now,” shuddered Snip, flattening himself agai
nst a tree. But it was not a lion that came hurtling out of the brush. It was a weenix, a wild, bear-like beast with a walrus head. One look at its tusks set Snip’s heart beating like a drum. Pajuka flung into the air, flapping his wings and hissing furiously, but the weenix came straight on and Snip, though determined to die with his pen knife in hand, trembled so violently he could scarcely stand up. Even Mombi looked frightend. Grabbing the basket from Snip, she fumbled among its packages and pans and just as the weenix, with outspread paws, leaped upon her, the old witch snatched out the pepper box and shook the entire contents upon its nose. It was purple pepper, fortunately, which is even stronger than red.
“Kawoosh!” spluttered the weenix falling backwards. “Kawoosh-Kawush! Kawoo!” With tears streaming down its tusks and trembling whiskers, it dashed into the shadows, where it could still be heard sneezing broken heartedly. It evidently told its family and friends all about the dangerous travellers, for not another weenix so much as showed a whisker after that.
“Humph!” snorted Mombi, settling her hat, which had gone terribly askew. “I may have
forgotten my magic, but I still know a few tricks, eh Pajuka?”
“Oh, my feathers,” panted the goose, leaning up against a tree, “that was worse than roasting.”
“How did you ever think of pepper?” asked Snip, who could not help admiring Mombi’s quickness. But Mombi merely gave a grunt, thrust the basket back into his hands and began limping along faster than ever. Snip was tired and hungry, but the thought of being left alone in the forest was so much worse than being in the company of a witch that he stumbled and ran after her, comforting himself with the thought of the fine sights he should see in the Emerald City.
Pajuka was tired too, but he hopped and flopped after Skip and another hour brought them to the edge of the forest. The countryside, stretching pleasantly ahead, was shaded with purple, so they knew they were still in the land of the Gillikens. The old witch ordered a halt, while she considered the road.
Mombi pegged her map down on the grass and began studying it carefully. Snip sat down under a tree and began fanning himself with his hat, while Pajuka flew off to find a stream, for the poor goose was parched by his flight through the forest and never felt quite happy out of water.
“How far is the Emerald City?” asked Snip, after watching Mombi for a time in silence.
“Ought to be there by night time,” muttered the witch, forgetting for once to scowl. “All we have to do is to keep going southwest.” Rolling up the map, Mombi took the rest of the bread and cheese from the basket. Seeing she meant to give him none, Snip went off in search of a bite for himself. In Oz this is not difficult, for the most marvelous plants and trees grow in all of its kingdoms. Scarcely a stone’s throw away Snip found a huckleberry-pie plant. He ate several of the small tarts, and then picked a pocket full of plums from a pretty little plum tree that grew by the roadside. The purple Gilliken country is as famous for its plums as the yellow Winkie Land is for its peaches and pears.
Feeling quite refreshed, Snip went to search for Pajuka. Just beyond a thin fringe of trees ran a shallow stream, and Pajuka, in the strange manner of geese, was standing on his head, eating his-lunch off the bottom. He looked so comical that Snip nearly burst out laughing, but remembering just in time that Pajuka was the King’s prime minister he cleared his throat instead. With a great bounce, Pajuka came right side tip and after a few dives and splashes waded ashore.
“What did you find to eat?” asked Snip curiously.
“Oh some water roots and er other things,” answered Pajuka. Seeing he was embarrassed Snip politely changed the subject.
“Tell me about the King,” said the little button boy, “and about Oz before Ozma was Queen.”
“Well, there was never a kindlier king anywhere,” began Pajuka, shaking the water from his
feathers.
“What kind?” asked Snip, biting into a plum. “How did he look?”
“Pleasant,” explained Pajuka, putting one foot before the other and waddling from side to side in his queer goosey fashion. “He was tall and gentle and very absent-minded, and so kind that he never punished anyone at all.”
“Then that’s why there were so many witches,” cried Snip triumphantly.
“Yes, and that’s why it was so easy for Mombi to get him into her power,” sighed Pajuka mournfully. “He would believe evil of no one-not even of a witch.”
“Seems to me Ozma makes a better ruler,” observed Snip, throwing his plum over a tree and standing on his tip toes to see how far it had gone. “She doesn’t allow anyone to pratice magic, excepting herself, Glinda and the Wiz ard.” This is perfectly true and Oz has enjoyed under the littlest Princess in history an era of great peace and prosperity.
“Ozma is a pretender,” insisted Pajuka stiffly. “But she doesn’t even know her father’s alive,” protested Snip. Though he had never seen Ozma, he had a great affection for the little Queen. “What will become of Ozma when we find the King?” he asked doubtfully.
“Oh, she can go back and play with her dolls. She’s only a little girl anyway,” answered the goose carelessly. Snip did not quite approve of this either, so he changed the subject again.
“There wasn’t any Emerald City then, was there Pajuka?”
“No, but we had a splendid castle where the Emerald City now stands and hunting parks in every country of Oz. Ah, those were the good old days,” sighed Pajuka sorrowfully. “If I could but see my dear master again I’d be content to remain a goose for the rest of my life.”
“I s’pose you do miss him,” said Snip sympathetically.
“Miss him!” Pajuka gave a great gulp and turned his head to wipe his tears on his feathers. “Why, I miss him even more than my pockets,” groaned the poor goose in a smothered voice.
Snip would have liked to hear more about the King, but a loud screech from Mombi interrupted the story. “Where’ve you been?” croaked the witch, emerging from a little patch of trees and blinking at them crossly. “I’ve been ready for hours. C’mon! Do you think this is a picnic?”
“Don’t sass me woman,” wheezed Pajuka with great dignity, “or I’ll not help you a mite. Who got us into this ridiculous mess, may I ask?”
Mombi paid no attention to Pajuka’s remarks, but began hobbling down the road and Snip, who could hardly wait to reach the Emerald City, hurried after her, still mumbling crossly to herself. The goose sulkily brought up the rear. The road was fairly good, and zigzagged pleasantly enough through meadows and fields.
“But aren’t there any houses?” asked Snip, as they passed through a deserted stretch of woodland. “Aren’t there any people or villages or towns?”
“There ought to be,” honked Pajuka, who was resting his feet in the air. (That’s one advantage of having wings, when your feet are tired you can fly.)
“There are!” snapped Mombi gruffly, and Mombi was right, for just then the wood came to an end and they found themselves facing a large, pleasant park, with dazzling white paths running in every direction. Snip was looking around with deep interest, when six of the strangest beings he had ever seen rose up from a bench a little distance off and stood examining them critically. They were certainly ten feet high and so thin and flat that Snip could scarcely believe they were people at all. But as they had heads,
arms, legs and the usual number of eyes, ears and noses, he concluded they must be people. As the little button boy stared at them, the first of the creatures leaned down, caught hold of its toes and came hurtling at the travelers like a hurricane.
“Whoop!” shrieked the second one, bending over as the first had done and turning itself into a sure enough hoop. “Whoop, whoop!”
“Honk!” screamed Pajuka defiantly, but before Snip and Mombi had time to recover from their surprise the six Hoopers had rolled upon them full-speed, knocking them flat upon their backs. Pajuka just saved himself by a quick flop into the air. Then, without unrolling, the six whizzed off backwards an
d by the time Snip and Mombi had scrambled up were ready for another dash.
“Get the pepper! Get the pepper!” squawked the goose wildly, but Mombi, furious at her fall, did nothing but hop and howl with rage and Snip, seeing that something must be done, snatched up her crooked stick. As the first Hooper came pelting upon them, he gave it a sharp crack that sent it whirling down the walk. The second and third he served in the same fashion. The fourth he missed, so that Mombi again was rolled in the dust, but the fifth and sixth he caught fairly and, beginning to enjoy the fun, started rolling them like hoops as fast as he could, whacking first one and then another and screaming with laughter at the comical expressions on their faces, when their faces came uppermost.
“Go it, Snip! Go it!” exulted Pajuka, flapping his wings delightedly. But Snip needed no encouragement and only stopped at last for lack of breath. Immediately the Hoopers unrolled and, groaning and whooping and holding their sides, limped off into the bushes. Hundreds of the creatures had gathered by this time and, as Snip sank down on a bench to rest, the very tallest Hooper came rolling toward them.
“What do you mean by beating my subjects in this heartless fashion?” demanded the great fellow, unrolling to his full height and glaring sternly down at the little button boy.
“Well, they started it,” replied Snip, keeping a firm hold on Mombi’s stick. “Didn’t they
L. Frank Baum - Oz 19 Page 3