L. Frank Baum - Oz 19

by The Lost King Of Oz

  “Well, you’d better thank Tik Tok,” spluttered the Scarecrow, leaping off the golden bench. “Hurrah! I have it now. One’s a time and one’s a place. Is there a Kingdom called Morrow anywhere in Oz, my dear?”

  “Morrow!” exclaimed Ozma, “Why, that does sound familiar, somehow. Morrow? Yes, I feel sure there is.”

  “Get a map,” ordered the Scarecrow in great excitement, and all but the Wizard sat down and smiled at the cleverness of the wise straw man.

  CHAPTER 9

  In the Castle of Morrow

  THE Wizard of Oz knew the geography of Ozma’s wonderful land by heart and he remembered the Kingdom of Morrow perfectly. He felt a bit jealous that the Scarecrow was about to solve the mystery without his help and so he popped a small wishing pill into his mouth and began speaking rapidly in magic.

  Now magic is a language which I do not profess to understand, but the results of the Wizard’s speech were instantaneous and astonishing. So swiftly that the hair of the three little girls was nearly jerked from their heads, so swiftly that Sir Hokus lost his sword and Ozma her crown, they were all hurled through the air and dashed down in a very short time on the steps of an ancient and gloomy castle.

  Its once splendid garden was choked up with weeds. Vines had run up and over the entire structure, covering even the windows and chimneys with a waving curtain of green. Owls hooted dismally from the towers and the scurry and scamper of frightened feet told that many little forested animals had made themselves at home within.

  “Mercy,” gasped Betsy Bobbin, examining anxiously a long scratch on her knee, “how did we

  get here?”

  “Where are we?” inquired Sir Hokus, blinkmg very fast from his seat upon a stone lion, where he had landed a little too suddenly and emphatically for complete comfort.

  “We are in Morrow,” replied the Wizard, rising from the last step out of the castle and dusting off his green trousers. “In Morrow, by my express wish and Dr. Nikidik’s wishing pills.”

  “Well, you might have told us we were coming,” said Trot a bit crossly, beginning to look around for her side comb.

  “Morrow!” murmured Ozma, walking dreamily up the castle steps. “Why I’ve been here before, dozens and dozens of times.”

  “Got another pill, Wizard?” asked Scraps grimly.

  “Ahem! No, I don’t believe I have,” coughed the little man nervously. “Why?”

  “I wanna go home,” shuddered the Patch Work Girl, looking fearfully at the dismal forest surrounding the castle and a flock of black birds circling ominously overhead. “I wanna go home!”

  “You should think before you wish, old fellow,” gulped the Scarecrow weakly. “Betsy, my dear, will you give me a shake. All of my straw has fallen into my left boot. And where’s Tik Tok, pray?”

  “I thought he’d better stay home,” replied the Wizard, looking around uneasily. Now that they were really in Morrow, he began to doubt the wisdom of his quick wish. Why had he not thought to bring his magic bag or another wishing pill in case of danger?

  “A rare and imposing old edifice!” observed Sir Hokus, dismounting stiffly from the stone lion, and looking up curiously at the castle.

  “Well, now that we are here, we might as well look around,” puffed the Scarecrow, more cheerful since Betsy had shaken him up and smoothed out his stuffing. “Come along!”

  Ozma was already standing before the dull golden doors, the only portion of the castle not overgrown with vines. Stepping up behind her, Sir Hokus lifted the huge knocker and let it fall with a great clank against the tarnished metal.

  “What ho, within!” roared the good Knight lustily. But only a hollow echo and the derisive hoot of an owl came shivering out to them.

  “What makes you think it is a Ho?” chattered Scraps nervously.

  “I wish you’d never wished us here. This castle’s full of spooks, I fear!”

  finished the Patch Work Girl, shaking her finger reproachfully at the Wizard.

  “Fear nothing,” boomed Sir Hokus grandly, “I will protect you.” Putting his mailed shoulder to the doors, he pressed with all his might. The bolts had evidently not been drawn and when the three little girls and the Wizard added their strength to his, the doors flew open so suddenly they all tumbled through together. Three jack rabbits and a tiny fawn leaped through a broken window pane as the doors crashed open and several bats, shaken from their hold on the beamed ceiling by the jar, began to circle round and round, screeching dismally. The hall had once been furnished with great splendor and magnificence, but now everything was covered with cobwebs, dust and decay. The dim green light filtering in through the vine covered windows made everything seem more ghastly still.

  “I wanna go home!” whispered Scraps plaintively.

  “Oh!” wailed Betsy Bobbin, hiding her face in the Scarecrow’s coat, “I don’t like this.”

  “Shoo!” couched the Scarecrow, stamping his foot at a flock of mice that came scurrying across the floor and whirling his hat about his head to keep off the bats. “Shoo, I tell you!”

  “What do you s’pose anyone wanted us to come here for?” groaned Trot, clinging nervously to

  Scraps.

  “Well, there must be some reason,” answered Ozma thoughtfully. “I seem to remember this castle.” Disregarding the grime and dust, the lovely little Queen walked slowly across the hall and sat down on a golden chest beside the long table. Sir Hokus, finding nothing better to fight than mice and bats, began briskly to clear the room of the pests, while Trot, Betsy and the Patch Work Girl tiptoed here and there talking in tense whispers, for in the silence of the deserted castle their words echoed and re-echoed unpleasantly. Having assured themselves that there was nothing of interest in the great hall, Sir Hokus, the Wizard and the Scarecrow went bravely off to examine the rest of the castle.

  “I wish they’d come back,” whispered Trot, after they’d been gone about five minutes. “Oooh, what’s that?”

  “The wind,” quavered Betsy doubtfully.

  “I don’t believe it,” shuddered Scraps, tripping over the fire irons and sprawling upon the hearth. “It’s a spook. I wanna go home! Just look at me!” Betsy and Trot giggled nervously, for Scraps, covered with grime and soot from her fall, was enough to make anyone laugh.

  “Never mind,” comforted Ozma, “I’ll have you dry cleaned when we get back home, but now I’m trying to think, so please do be quiet.”

  Quiet! Scarcely was the word out of her mouth, before there was such a shivering slam overhead that all three girls jumped with terror and Scraps, for greater security leaped clear onto the table, touching as she did so a hidden spring in the top. At this there was a blinding flash and while Ozma, Betsy and Trot clung desperately together and Scraps gave another jump that carried her clear to the chandelier, the center of the table rose up before their eyes, disclosing a long silver casket.

  “Don’t touch it!” warned the Patch Work Girl, swinging dizzily ‘round and ‘round.

  “A goblin.a goblin will jump out and bite us, There’s a giant upstairs and he’s coming to smite

  us!”

  Someone certainly was coming down the stairs. Scarcely daring to look, they waited anxiously for the next happening.

  “What befell?” It was Sir Hokus of Pokes and not a giant who stuck his head through the doorway. “Did’st call maidens?” asked the Knight, looking up at Scraps in vague disapproval.

  Without stopping to explain what had frightened them, Ozma pointed a trembling finger at the silver casket and before any of them could beg him not to, Sir Hokus strode forward and opened the mysterious chest. Scraps hid her head in her arm. Then, hearing no screams nor explosions, she finally screwed up enough courage to look down. The Wizard of Oz and the Scarecrow had returned and they were all staring in amazement at a green velvet robe which Sir Hokus had taken from the chest.

  “Royal robe of his Majesty, the King of Oz!” boomed the Knight, reading from a small tag on the ermine collar.r />
  “The King of Oz?” choked Ozma, clasping her hands in excitement. ‘Why that’s my father, and I remember now. This is the hunting lodge where we used to hide from Mombi when I was a little girl!”

  “But I thought Mombi destroyed your father when she turned you to a boy,” puffed Betsy Bobbin, her eyes sticking out with astonishment and surprise.

  “So did I,” muttered the little Wizard. He always felt uneasy and unhappy when the old witch was mentioned, for he, himself, had given Ozma into Mombi’s keeping when he took possession of the Kingdom. The old witch had already spirited away the little girl’s father and Ozma herself was too young to rule. But the Wizard, changed very much since those old days, realized now how wrong it had been and did not like to recall the part he had played in the affair at all.

  “Well, no wonder you remembered the castle,” put in Trot.

  “But wait!” cried Sir Hokus hoarsely. “There is more.” And turning over the tag he read: “This robe has been preserved by the Fairy Lurline, and if placed upon the King’s shoulders with Incantation No. 986 from the Green Book of Magic, will restore him to his proper shape. If the incantation is used without the robe a great disaster will befall.”

  “Who’s Lurline?” asked Trot, her eyes winking very fast indeed.

  “Why Lurline is my Fairy Godmother and the Queen of the fairy band we are all descended from,” explained Ozma breathlessly. “Oh girls! To think my father is really alive!” The delighted little ruler hugged Betsy and Trot so hard that they had to squeal for mercy.

  “I should think you’d rather be Queen yourself,” sniffed Scraps, dropping sulkily from the chandelier and coming over to stare at the King’s robe. “He’ll want to boss you ‘round and make you go to bed at eight, wear rubbers and all that other fatherish stuff. Let’s go home and not bother with him. Who wants a King anyway, I like you!”

  Betsy looked shocked at the Patch Work Girl’s heartless speech, but Ozma, paying no heed to Scraps, began to confer excitedly with the Wizard.

  “Who sent the quill? Where shall we look first? What does it mean by the Green Book of

  Magic?” she asked, one question following another so fast the Wizard blinked with discomfort.

  “If you take my advice,” observed the Scarecrow, rubbing his nose wisely, “you’ll return immediately to the Emerald City. Once there we have but to look in the Magic Picture to discover the whereabouts of your royal parent.”

  Among the many treasures in Ozma’s palace is the Magic Picture, in which you may see anyone you wish by merely expressing the desire to see them. It also shows the country and exact situation they are in, so you can see how sensible the Scarecrow’s suggestion really was.

  “But what made that terrible racket upstairs?” demanded Scraps, suddenly remembering her

  scare.

  “Oh that!” Sir Hokus shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “I fell through a trap door into a closet full of tins,” explained the Knight sheepishly.

  “It’s a good thing you did,” laughed Betsy Bobbin, “for if you hadn’t frightened Scraps we might never have found the silver chest at all.”

  “Now that we have found it,” shivered Trot, “let’s go. It’s cold in here.”

  “And let’s hurry!” cried Ozma, seizing the Scarecrow affectionately by the arm. “Oh, I can scarcely wait to see my father.”

  “Why didn’t you bring along another wishing pill, Wizard?” sighed Betsy. “We’re in Morrow, sure enough, but where is Morrow? And how do we get back to the Emerald City, anyway?” No one could answer Betsy’s question, for it had been so long since Ozma had been in the old castle she remembered nothing of its location.

  “We’ll have to walk, I s’pose,” said the Scarecrow, detaching a cobweb from his ear, “and the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll arrive.

  “Right, as usual!” approved the Knight, taking the Scarecrow by the arm. “Forward for the King and for Oz!”

  So, after another short look about, the seven adventurers closed the castle doors and began to make their way cautiously through the deserted park.

  “If I only knew who sent the feather,” murmured Ozma, holding up her lace skirts to keep them from catching on the bushes and thorns.

  “I’ll bet it was your Fairy Godmother,” said Trot, skipping along excitedly.

  “Well, I wish the goose had come with the feather,” sighed Betsy Bobbin. “I’m hungry as the Hungry Tiger!”

  “If you were stuffed with cotton, you’d never have to eat.

  I’m glad I’m made of patch work and not of bone and meat.”

  sang Scraps, dancing ahead in her ridiculous fashion.

  “There’s a house!” called Betsy, tugging the Knight suddenly by the arm and pointing to a small red building.

  “Oh!” cried Ozma, clasping her hands, “Perhaps someone lives there who can tell us about my

  father!”

  “He may be near and he may be farther,” giggled Scraps starting to run toward the little red house. “Come on everybody!”

  Led by the Patch Work Girl, the little company hurried toward the little red house. No one was to be seen at the windows, and when Sir Hokus pounded on the door there was no answer.

  “We are wasting time here,” said the Scarecrow at last. “Let us be on our way.” And so the homeward march was resumed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Dorothy and the Dummy

  ON the same bright morning that the golden goose feather had come flashing down into Ozma’s garden in the Emerald City, Dorothy had said goodbye to her old friends in Perhaps City and started gaily homeward.

  Her visit on Maybe Mountain, where old Peer Haps holds court and the Forgetful Poet makes verses from morning until night, had been so interesting and jolly that Dorothy still felt happy and she went skipping down the steep mountain path almost as fast as the little brook that rushed along at her side. As she skipped along she sang this merry ditty:

  “I saw one day, the last of May, A foolish and absurd

  Old yellow fellow calling ‘Hello, I’m a banana bird!’

  “A banana bird! My eyes grew blurred; I took to my toes and heels, Then away he flew with a flap or two, Of his yellow banana peals.”

  “I must try to remember that for Scraps, Dorothy giggled softly to herself. Her head was full of the Forgetful Poet’s ridiculous rhymes, and she was so busy remembering them and the many bits of news she had for Ozma that she reached the bottom of the mountain in almost no time and, without noticing where she was going, turned into an inviting small lane. There was a sign swinging from a yellow post at the head of the lane, but Dorothy never saw it. She knew she was in the familiar Winkie Country, for the wind mills, flapping lazily in the morning breeze, were yellow, the houses were yellow and if that were not proof enough, the lane was full of daisies and buttercups and edged with golden peach and pear trees.

  “I don’t believe,” sighed Dorothy, hurrying happily along under the lovely branches, “I don’t believe there is any place so interesting as Oz. How pretty this road is!”

  Stooping down, she scooped up a bit of the sand that made the bed of the lane sparkle like silver in the sunlight. It was silver, to be perfectly truthful, and with a little smile Dorothy slipped some into her pocket.

  “How surprised anyone in Kansas would be to find silver dust in the road,” thought the little girl, recalling her old home with a little chuckle of amusement. “No, nothing like this ever happens in America at all, and yet-” Dorothy paused to pick an unusually large buttercup and twirl it absently under her chin, “and yet I sometimes wish I were in America again, just to see

  Wheee-e! Off flew her hat, up flew her heels and in a whirl of silver dust and peach blossoms, off flew Dorothy herself. Off, up, away and down again, so swiftly she had not even time to swallow.

  “Thirty miles to Hollywood,” said the sign near the huge rock where she sat blinking with shock and astonishment.

  “Hollywood!” panted Dorothy. “Why that
’s in California and California’s in the United States. But how did I get here?” There was no one to answer her question, and as she couldn’t answer it herself she jumped up, smoothed out her dress and looked anxiously about. A smooth white road ran evenly ahead, one side sloped down into a deep ravine, on the other side was a long, uninteresting stretch of meadow. Through the trees at the bottom of the ravine, Dorothy caught a glimpse of some houses.

  Feeling terribly puzzled and not entirely pleased, she left the road and started down through the trees. Halfway down, she paused to make sure she was going toward the houses, when the furious

  clatter of hoofs on the road above made her glance up in dismay. A great company of horsemen, armed with pikes, staves, swords and pitch forks were galloping pell mell along the highway. Giving a scream of fright, Dorothy saw them turn and plunge down the ravine. With a smash and a crash they came riding upon her. Gasping in terror, Dorothy sprang behind a big tree and in a whirl of sticks, dust and color the horsemen pounded past. They were dressed in green doublets and hose. They wore wide feathered hats and were not at all the sort of folk Dorothy expected to find in America.