By and by they left the woods and entered a big clearing, in which was the Kingdom of Utensia.
Standing all around the clearing were a good many cookstoves, ranges and grills, of all sizes and shapes, and besides these there were several kitchen cabinets and cupboards and a few kitchen tables. These things were crowded with utensils of all sorts: frying pans, sauce pans, kettles, forks, knives, basting and soup spoons, nutmeg graters, sifters, colanders, meat saws, flat irons, rolling pins and many other things of a like nature.
When the Spoon Brigade appeared with the prisoners a wild shout arose and many of the utensils hopped off their stoves or their benches and ran crowding around Dorothy and the hen and the dog.
“Stand back!” cried the Captain, sternly, and he led his captives through the curious throng until they came before a big range that stood in the center of the clearing. Beside this range was a butcher block upon which lay a great cleaver with a keen edge. It rested upon the flat of its back, its legs were crossed and it was smoking a long pipe.
“Wake up, your Majesty,” said the Captain. “Here are prisoners.”
Hearing this, King Kleaver sat up and looked at Dorothy sharply.
“Gristle and fat!” he cried. “Where did this girl come from?”
“I found her in the forest and brought her here a prisoner,” replied the Captain.
“Why did you do that?” inquired the King, puffing his pipe lazily.
“To create some excitement,” the Captain answered. “It is so quiet here that we are all getting rusty for want of amusement. For my part, I prefer to see stirring times.”
“Naturally,” returned the cleaver, with a nod. “I have always said, Captain, without a bit of irony, that you are a sterling officer and a solid citizen, bowled and polished to a degree. But what do you expect me to do with these prisoners?”
“That is for you to decide,” declared the Captain. “You are the King.”
“To be sure; to be sure,” muttered the cleaver, musingly. “As you say, we have had dull times since the steel and grindstone eloped and left us. Command my Counselors and the Royal Courtiers to attend me, as well as the High Priest and the Judge. We’ll then decide what can be done.”
The Captain saluted and retired and Dorothy sat down on an overturned kettle and asked:
“Have you anything to eat in your kingdom?”
“Here! Get up! Get off from me!” cried a faint voice, at which his Majesty the cleaver said:
“Excuse me, but you’re sitting on my friend the Ten-quart Kettle.”
Dorothy at once arose, and the kettle turned right side up and looked at her reproachfully.
“I’m a friend of the King, so no one dares sit on me,” said he.
“I’d prefer a chair, anyway,” she replied.
“Sit on that hearth,” commanded the King.
So Dorothy sat on the hearth-shelf of the big range, and the subjects of Utensia began to gather around in a large and inquisitive throng. Toto lay at Dorothy’s feet and Billina flew upon the range, which had no fire in it, and perched there as comfortably as she could.
When all the Counselors and Courtiers had assembled—and these seemed to include most of the inhabitants of the kingdom—the King rapped on the block for order and said:
“Friends and Fellow Utensils! Our worthy Commander of the Spoon Brigade, Captain Dipp, has captured the three prisoners you see before you and brought them here for—for—I don’t know what for. So I ask your advice how to act in this matter, and what fate I should mete out to these captives. Judge Sifter, stand on my right. It is your business to sift this affair to the bottom. High Priest Colender, stand on my left and see that no one testifies falsely in this matter.”
As these two officials took their places, Dorothy asked:
“Why is the colander the High Priest?”
“He’s the holiest thing we have in the kingdom,” replied King Kleaver.
“Except me,” said a sieve. “I’m the whole thing when it comes to holes.”
“What we need,” remarked the King, rebukingly, “is a wireless sieve. I must speak to Marconi about it. These old-fashioned sieves talk too much. Now, it is the duty of the King’s Counselors to counsel the King at all times of emergency, so I beg you to speak out and advise me what to do with these prisoners.”
“I demand that they be killed several times, until they are dead!” shouted a pepperbox, hopping around very excitedly.
“Compose yourself, Mr. Paprica,” advised the King. “Your remarks are piquant and highly-seasoned, but you need a scattering of commonsense. It is only necessary to kill a person once to make him dead; but I do not see that it is necessary to kill this little girl at all.”
“I don’t, either,” said Dorothy.
“Pardon me, but you are not expected to advise me in this matter,” replied King Kleaver.
“Why not?” asked Dorothy.
“You might be prejudiced in your own favor, and so mislead us,” he said. “Now then, good subjects, who speaks next?”
“I’d like to smooth this thing over, in some way,” said a flatiron, earnestly. “We are supposed to be useful to mankind, you know.”
“But the girl isn’t mankind! She’s womankind!” yelled a corkscrew.
“What do you know about it?” inquired the King.
“I’m a lawyer,” said the corkscrew, proudly. “I am accustomed to appear at the bar.”
“But you’re crooked,” retorted the King, “and that debars you. You may be a corking good lawyer, Mr. Popp, but I must ask you to withdraw your remarks.”
“Very well,” said the corkscrew, sadly; “I see I haven’t any pull at this court.”
“Permit me,” continued the flatiron, “to press my suit, your Majesty. I do not wish to gloss over any fault the prisoner may have committed, if such a fault exists; but we owe her some consideration, and that’s flat!”
“I’d like to hear from Prince Karver,” said the King.
At this a stately carvingknife stepped forward and bowed.
“The Captain was wrong to bring this girl here, and she was wrong to come,” he said. “But now that the foolish deed is done let us all prove our mettle and have a slashing good time.”
“That’s it! that’s it!” screamed a fat choppingknife. “We’ll make mincemeat of the girl and hash of the chicken and sausage of the dog!”
There was a shout of approval at this and the King had to rap again for order.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” he said, “your remarks are somewhat cutting and rather disjointed, as might be expected from such acute intellects. But you give me no reasons for your demands.”
“See here, Kleaver; you make me tired,” said a saucepan, strutting before the King very impudently. “You’re about the worst King that ever reigned in Utensia, and that’s saying a good deal. Why don’t you run things yourself, instead of asking everybody’s advice, like the big, clumsy idiot you are?”
The King sighed.
“I wish there wasn’t a saucepan in my kingdom,” he said. “You fellows are always stewing, over something, and every once in a while you slop over and make a mess of it. Go hang yourself, sir—by the handle—and don’t let me hear from you again.”
Dorothy was much shocked by the dreadful language the utensils employed, and she thought that they must have had very little proper training. So she said, addressing the King, who seemed very unfit to rule his turbulent subjects:
“I wish you’d decide my fate right away. I can’t stay here all day, trying to find out what you’re going to do with me.”
“This thing is becoming a regular broil, and it’s time I took part in it,” observed a big gridiron, coming forward.
“What I’d like to know,” said a can-opener, in a shrill voice, “is why the little girl came to our forest anyhow a
nd why she intruded upon Captain Dipp—who ought to be called Dippy—and who she is, and where she came from, and where she is going, and why and wherefore and therefore and when.”
“I’m sorry to see, Sir Jabber,” remarked the King to the can-opener, “that you have such a prying disposition. As a matter of fact, all the things you mention are none of our business.”
Having said this the King relighted his pipe, which had gone out.
“Tell me, please, what IS our business?” inquired a potato-masher, winking at Dorothy somewhat impertinently. “I’m fond of little girls, myself, and it seems to me she has as much right to wander in the forest as we have.”
“Who accuses the little girl, anyway?” inquired a rolling-pin. “What has she done?”
“I don’t know,” said the King. “What has she done, Captain Dipp?”
“That’s the trouble, your Majesty. She hasn’t done anything,” replied the Captain.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Dorothy.
This question seemed to puzzle them all. Finally, a chafingdish, exclaimed irritably:
“If no one can throw any light on this subject you must excuse me if I go out.”
At this, a big kitchen fork pricked up its ears and said in a tiny voice:
“Let’s hear from Judge Sifter.”
“That’s proper,” returned the King.
So Judge Sifter turned around slowly several times and then said:
“We have nothing against the girl except the stove-hearth upon which she sits. Therefore I order her instantly discharged.”
“Discharged!” cried Dorothy. “Why, I never was discharged in my life, and I don’t intend to be. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll resign.”
“It’s all the same,” declared the King. “You are free—you and your companions—and may go wherever you like.”
“Thank you,” said the little girl. “But haven’t you anything to eat in your kingdom? I’m hungry.”
“Go into the woods and pick blackberries,” advised the King, lying down upon his back again and preparing to go to sleep. “There isn’t a morsel to eat in all Utensia, that I know of.”
So Dorothy jumped up and said:
“Come on, Toto and Billina. If we can’t find the camp, we may find some blackberries.”
The utensils drew back and allowed them to pass without protest, although Captain Dipp marched the Spoon Brigade in close order after them until they had reached the edge of the clearing.
There the spoons halted; but Dorothy and her companions entered the forest again and began searching diligently for a way back to the camp, that they might rejoin their party.
17. How They Came to Bunbury
Wandering through the woods, without knowing where you are going or what adventure you are about to meet next, is not as pleasant as one might think. The woods are always beautiful and impressive, and if you are not worried or hungry you may enjoy them immensely; but Dorothy was worried and hungry that morning, so she paid little attention to the beauties of the forest, and hurried along as fast as she could go. She tried to keep in one direction and not circle around, but she was not at all sure that the direction she had chosen would lead her to the camp.
By and by, to her great joy, she came upon a path. It ran to the right and to the left, being lost in the trees in both directions, and just before her, upon a big oak, were fastened two signs, with arms pointing both ways. One sign read:
TAKE THE OTHER ROAD TO BUNBURY
and the second sign read:
TAKE THE OTHER ROAD TO BUNNYBURY
“Well!” exclaimed Billina, eyeing the signs, “this looks as if we were getting back to civilization again.”
“I’m not sure about the civil’zation, dear,” replied the little girl; “but it looks as if we might get SOMEWHERE, and that’s a big relief, anyhow.”
“Which path shall we take?” inquired the Yellow Hen.
Dorothy stared at the signs thoughtfully.
“Bunbury sounds like something to eat,” she said. “Let’s go there.”
“It’s all the same to me,” replied Billina. She had picked up enough bugs and insects from the moss as she went along to satisfy her own hunger, but the hen knew Dorothy could not eat bugs; nor could Toto.
The path to Bunbury seemed little traveled, but it was distinct enough and ran through the trees in a zigzag course until it finally led them to an open space filled with the queerest houses Dorothy had ever seen. They were all made of crackers laid out in tiny squares, and were of many pretty and ornamental shapes, having balconies and porches with posts of bread-sticks and roofs shingled with wafer-crackers.
There were walks of bread-crusts leading from house to house and forming streets, and the place seemed to have many inhabitants.
When Dorothy, followed by Billina and Toto, entered the place, they found people walking the streets or assembled in groups talking together, or sitting upon the porches and balconies.
And what funny people they were!
Men, women and children were all made of buns and bread. Some were thin and others fat; some were white, some light brown and some very dark of complexion. A few of the buns, which seemed to form the more important class of the people, were neatly frosted. Some had raisins for eyes and currant buttons on their clothes; others had eyes of cloves and legs of stick cinnamon, and many wore hats and bonnets frosted pink and green.
There was something of a commotion in Bunbury when the strangers suddenly appeared among them. Women caught up their children and hurried into their houses, shutting the cracker doors carefully behind them. Some men ran so hastily that they tumbled over one another, while others, more brave, assembled in a group and faced the intruders defiantly.
Dorothy at once realized that she must act with caution in order not to frighten these shy people, who were evidently unused to the presence of strangers. There was a delightful fragrant odor of fresh bread in the town, and this made the little girl more hungry than ever. She told Toto and Billina to stay back while she slowly advanced toward the group that stood silently awaiting her.
“You must ‘scuse me for coming unexpected,” she said, softly, “but I really didn’t know I was coming here until I arrived. I was lost in the woods, you know, and I’m as hungry as anything.”
“Hungry!” they murmured, in a horrified chorus.
“Yes; I haven’t had anything to eat since last night’s supper,” she exclaimed. “Are there any eatables in Bunbury?”
They looked at one another undecidedly, and then one portly bun man, who seemed a person of consequence, stepped forward and said:
“Little girl, to be frank with you, we are all eatables. Everything in Bunbury is eatable to ravenous human creatures like you. But it is to escape being eaten and destroyed that we have secluded ourselves in this out-of-the-way place, and there is neither right nor justice in your coming here to feed upon us.”
Dorothy looked at him longingly.
“You’re bread, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes; bread and butter. The butter is inside me, so it won’t melt and run. I do the running myself.”
At this joke all the others burst into a chorus of laughter, and Dorothy thought they couldn’t be much afraid if they could laugh like that.
“Couldn’t I eat something besides people?” she asked. “Couldn’t I eat just one house, or a side-walk or something? I wouldn’t mind much what it was, you know.”
“This is not a public bakery, child,” replied the man, sternly. “It’s private property.”
“I know Mr.—Mr.—”
“My name is C. Bunn, Esquire,” said the man. “‘C’ stands for Cinnamon, and this place is called after my family, which is the most aristocratic in the town.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” objected another of the queer
people. “The Grahams and the Browns and Whites are all excellent families, and there is none better of their kind. I’m a Boston Brown, myself.”
“I admit you are all desirable citizens,” said Mr. Bunn rather stiffly; “but the fact remains that our town is called Bunbury.”
“‘Scuse me,” interrupted Dorothy; “but I’m getting hungrier every minute. Now, if you’re polite and kind, as I’m sure you ought to be, you’ll let me eat SOMETHING. There’s so much to eat here that you will never miss it.”
Then a big, puffed-up man, of a delicate brown color, stepped forward and said:
“I think it would be a shame to send this child away hungry, especially as she agrees to eat whatever we can spare and not touch our people.”
“So do I, Pop,” replied a Roll who stood near.
“What, then, do you suggest, Mr. Over?” inquired Mr. Bunn.
“Why, I’ll let her eat my back fence, if she wants to. It’s made of waffles, and they’re very crisp and nice.”
“She may also eat my wheelbarrow,” added a pleasant looking Muffin. “It’s made of nabiscos with a zuzu wheel.”
“Very good; very good,” remarked Mr. Bunn. “That is certainly very kind of you. Go with Pop Over and Mr. Muffin, little girl, and they will feed you.”
“Thank you very much,” said Dorothy, gratefully. “May I bring my dog Toto, and the Yellow Hen? They’re hungry, too.”
“Will you make them behave?” asked the Muffin.
“Of course,” promised Dorothy.
“Then come along,” said Pop Over.
So Dorothy and Billina and Toto walked up the street and the people seemed no longer to be at all afraid of them. Mr. Muffin’s house came first, and as his wheelbarrow stood in the front yard the little girl ate that first. It didn’t seem very fresh, but she was so hungry that she was not particular. Toto ate some, too, while Billina picked up the crumbs.
While the strangers were engaged in eating, many of the people came and stood in the street curiously watching them. Dorothy noticed six roguish looking brown children standing all in a row, and she asked:
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 188