“How can I lose that ‘Un,’ Dame Margolotte?”
“I do not know how, but you must keep the matter in mind and perhaps the chance will come to you,” she replied.
Ojo had never eaten such a fine meal in all his life. There was a savory stew, smoking hot, a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of a delicate blue tint and a blue pudding with blue plums in it. When the visitors had eaten heartily of this fare the woman said to them:
“Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or for pleasure?”
Unc shook his head.
“We are traveling,” replied Ojo, “and we stopped at your house just to rest and refresh ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares very much to see the famous Crooked Magician; but for my part I am curious to look at such a great man.”
The woman seemed thoughtful.
“I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used to be friends, many years ago,” she said, “so perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The Magician is very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to disturb him you may come into his workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful charm.”
“Thank you,” replied the boy, much pleased. “I would like to do that.”
She led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which was the Magician’s workshop. There was a row of windows extending nearly around the sides of the circular room, which rendered the place very light, and there was a back door in addition to the one leading to the front part of the house. Before the row of windows a broad seat was built and there were some chairs and benches in the room besides. At one end stood a great fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing with a blue flame, and over the fire hung four kettles in a row, all bubbling and steaming at a great rate. The Magician was stirring all four of these kettles at the same time, two with his hands and two with his feet, to the latter, wooden ladles being strapped, for this man was so very crooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.
Unc Nunkie came forward to greet his old friend, but not being able to shake either his hands or his feet, which were all occupied in stirring, he patted the Magician’s bald head and asked: “What?”
“Ah, it’s the Silent One,” remarked Dr. Pipt, without looking up, “and he wants to know what I’m making. Well, when it is quite finished this compound will be the wonderful Powder of Life, which no one knows how to make but myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything, that thing will at once come to life, no matter what it is. It takes me several years to make this magic Powder, but at this moment I am pleased to say it is nearly done. You see, I am making it for my good wife Margolotte, who wants to use some of it for a purpose of her own. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Unc Nunkie, and after I’ve finished my task I will talk to you.”
“You must know,” said Margolotte, when they were all seated together on the broad window-seat, “that my husband foolishly gave away all the Powder of Life he first made to old Mombi the Witch, who used to live in the Country of the Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to Dr. Pipt a Powder of Perpetual Youth in exchange for his Powder of Life, but she cheated him wickedly, for the Powder of Youth was no good and could work no magic at all.”
“Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn’t either,” said Ojo.
“Yes; it is perfection,” she declared. “The first lot we tested on our Glass Cat, which not only began to live but has lived ever since. She’s somewhere around the house now.”
“A Glass Cat!” exclaimed Ojo, astonished.
“Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little more than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch mice,” explained Margolotte. “My husband made the cat some pink brains, but they proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she thinks it is undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty blood-red heart, but it is made of stone—a ruby, I think—and so is rather hard and unfeeling. I think the next Glass Cat the Magician makes will have neither brains nor heart, for then it will not object to catching mice and may prove of some use to us.”
“What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband gave her?” asked the boy.
“She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing,” was the reply. “I suppose you’ve heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the Emerald City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules all the Land of Oz.”
“No; I’ve never heard of him,” remarked Ojo. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Land of Oz. You see, I’ve lived all my life with Unc Nunkie, the Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything.”
“That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky,” said the woman, in a sympathetic tone. “The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge is the greatest gift in life.”
“But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it for some especial purpose.”
“So I do,” she answered. “I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life.”
“Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?” Ojo asked, for this seemed even more strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.
“I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl,” said Margolotte, laughing at the boy’s astonishment, “for she is rather difficult to explain. But first I will tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant to help me with the housework and to cook the meals and wash the dishes. No servant will come here because the place is so lonely and out-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed that I make a girl out of some sort of material and he would make her live by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed an excellent suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new batch of his magic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so I have had plenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so easy as you may suppose. At first I couldn’t think what to make her of, but finally in searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork quilt, which my grandmother once made when she was young.”
“What is a patchwork quilt?” asked Ojo.
“A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth, all neatly sewed together. The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so a patchwork quilt is a very pretty and gorgeous thing to look at. Sometimes it is called a ‘crazy-quilt,’ because the patches and colors are so mixed up. We never have used my grandmother’s many-colored patchwork quilt, handsome as it is, for we Munchkins do not care for any color other than blue, so it has been packed away in the chest for about a hundred years. When I found it, I said to myself that it would do nicely for my servant girl, for when she was brought to life she would not be proud nor haughty, as the Glass Cat is, for such a dreadful mixture of colors would discourage her from trying to be as dignified as the blue Munchkins are.”
“Is blue the only respectable color, then?” inquired Ojo.
“Yes, for a Munchkin. All our country is blue, you know. But in other parts of Oz the people favor different colors. At the Emerald City, where our Princess Ozma lives, green is the popular color. But all Munchkins prefer blue to anything else and when my housework girl is brought to life she will find herself to be of so many unpopular colors that she’ll never dare be rebellious or impudent, as servants are sometimes liable to be when they are made the same way their mistresses are.”
Unc Nunkie nodded approval.
“Good i-dea,” he said; and that was a long speech for Unc Nunkie because it was two words.
“So I cut up the quilt,” continued Margolotte, “and made from it a very well-shaped girl, which I stuffed with cotton-wadding. I will show you what a good job I did,” and she went to a tall cupboard and threw open the doors.
Then back she came, lugging in her arms the Patchwork Girl, which she set upon the bench and propped up so that the figure would not tumble over.
Chapter Three.The Pa
tchwork Girl
Ojo examined this curious contrivance with wonder. The Patchwork Girl was taller than he, when she stood upright, and her body was plump and rounded because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton. Margolotte had first made the girl’s form from the patchwork quilt and then she had dressed it with a patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in it—using the same gay material throughout. Upon the feet she had sewn a pair of red leather shoes with pointed toes. All the fingers and thumbs of the girl’s hands had been carefully formed and stuffed and stitched at the edges, with gold plates at the ends to serve as finger-nails.
“She will have to work, when she comes to life,” said Margolotte.
The head of the Patchwork Girl was the most curious part of her. While she waited for her husband to finish making his Powder of Life the woman had found ample time to complete the head as her fancy dictated, and she realized that a good servant’s head must be properly constructed. The hair was of brown yarn and hung down on her neck in several neat braids. Her eyes were two silver suspender-buttons cut from a pair of the Magician’s old trousers, and they were sewed on with black threads, which formed the pupils of the eyes. Margolotte had puzzled over the ears for some time, for these were important if the servant was to hear distinctly, but finally she had made them out of thin plates of gold and attached them in place by means of stitches through tiny holes bored in the metal. Gold is the most common metal in the Land of Oz and is used for many purposes because it is soft and pliable.
The woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork Girl’s mouth and sewn two rows of white pearls in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush for a tongue. This mouth Ojo considered very artistic and lifelike, and Margolotte was pleased when the boy praised it. There were almost too many patches on the face of the girl for her to be considered strictly beautiful, for one cheek was yellow and the other red, her chin blue, her forehead purple and the center, where her nose had been formed and padded, a bright yellow.
“You ought to have had her face all pink,” suggested the boy.
“I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth,” replied the woman. “Still, I cannot see as it matters much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be useful rather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at her patched face I can whitewash it.”
“Has she any brains?” asked Ojo.
“No; I forgot all about the brains!” exclaimed the woman. “I am glad you reminded me of them, for it is not too late to supply them, by any means. Until she is brought to life I can do anything I please with this girl. But I must be careful not to give her too much brains, and those she has must be such as are fitted to the station she is to occupy in life. In other words, her brains mustn’t be very good.”
“Wrong,” said Unc Nunkie.
“No; I am sure I am right about that,” returned the woman.
“He means,” explained Ojo, “that unless your servant has good brains she won’t know how to obey you properly, nor do the things you ask her to do.”
“Well, that may be true,” agreed Margolotte; “but, on the contrary, a servant with too much brains is sure to become independent and high-and-mighty and feel above her work. This is a very delicate task, as I said, and I must take care to give the girl just the right quantity of the right sort of brains. I want her to know just enough, but not too much.”
With this she went to another cupboard which was filled with shelves. All the shelves were lined with blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by the Magician to show what they contained. One whole shelf was marked: “Brain Furniture,” and the bottles on this shelf were labeled as follows: “Obedience,” “Cleverness,” “Judgment,” “Courage,” “Ingenuity,” “Amiability,” “Learning,” “Truth,” “Poesy,” “Self Reliance.”
“Let me see,” said Margolotte; “of those qualities she must have ‘Obedience’ first of all,” and she took down the bottle bearing that label and poured from it upon a dish several grains of the contents. “‘Amiability’ is also good and ‘Truth.’” She poured into the dish a quantity from each of these bottles. “I think that will do,” she continued, “for the other qualities are not needed in a servant.”
Unc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her, touched the bottle marked “Cleverness.”
“Little,” said he.
“A little ‘Cleverness’? Well, perhaps you are right, sir,” said she, and was about to take down the bottle when the Crooked Magician suddenly called to her excitedly from the fireplace.
“Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me.”
She ran to her husband’s side at once and helped him lift the four kettles from the fire. Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in the bottom of each kettle a few grains of fine white powder. Very carefully the Magician removed this powder, placing it all together in a golden dish, where he mixed it with a golden spoon. When the mixture was complete there was scarcely a handful, all told.
“That,” said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and triumphant tone, “is the wonderful Powder of Life, which I alone in the world know how to make. It has taken me nearly six years to prepare these precious grains of dust, but the little heap on that dish is worth the price of a kingdom and many a king would give all he has to possess it. When it has become cooled I will place it in a small bottle; but meantime I must watch it carefully, lest a gust of wind blow it away or scatter it.”
Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician all stood looking at the marvelous Powder, but Ojo was more interested just then in the Patchwork Girl’s brains. Thinking it both unfair and unkind to deprive her of any good qualities that were handy, the boy took down every bottle on the shelf and poured some of the contents in Margolotte’s dish. No one saw him do this, for all were looking at the Powder of Life; but soon the woman remembered what she had been doing, and came back to the cupboard.
“Let’s see,” she remarked; “I was about to give my girl a little ‘Cleverness,’ which is the Doctor’s substitute for ‘Intelligence’—a quality he has not yet learned how to manufacture.” Taking down the bottle of “Cleverness” she added some of the powder to the heap on the dish. Ojo became a bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite a lot of the “Cleverness” powder in the dish; but he dared not interfere and so he comforted himself with the thought that one cannot have too much cleverness.
Margolotte now carried the dish of brains to the bench. Ripping the seam of the patch on the girl’s forehead, she placed the powder within the head and then sewed up the seam as neatly and securely as before.
“My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life, my dear,” she said to her husband. But the Magician replied:
“This powder must not be used before to-morrow morning; but I think it is now cool enough to be bottled.”
He selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-box top, so that the powder might be sprinkled on any object through the small holes. Very carefully he placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle and then locked it up in a drawer of his cabinet.
“At last,” said he, rubbing his hands together gleefully, “I have ample leisure for a good talk with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit down cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring those four kettles for six years I am glad to have a little rest.”
“You will have to do most of the talking,” said Ojo, “for Unc is called the Silent One and uses few words.”
“I know; but that renders your uncle a most agreeable companion and gossip,” declared Dr. Pipt. “Most people talk too much, so it is a relief to find one who talks too little.”
Ojo looked at the Magician with much awe and curiosity.
“Don’t you find it very annoying to be so crooked?” he asked.
“No; I am quite proud of my person,” was the reply. “I suppose I am the only Crooked Magician in all the world. Some others are accused of being crooked, but I am the only genuine.”
He was really very crooked and Ojo wondered
how he managed to do so many things with such a twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked chair that had been made to fit him, one knee was under his chin and the other near the small of his back; but he was a cheerful man and his face bore a pleasant and agreeable expression.
“I am not allowed to perform magic, except for my own amusement,” he told his visitors, as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem and began to smoke. “Too many people were working magic in the Land of Oz, and so our lovely Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was quite right. There were several wicked Witches who caused a lot of trouble; but now they are all out of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda the Good, is permitted to practice her arts, which never harm anybody. The Wizard of Oz, who used to be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has been taking lessons of Glinda, and I’m told he is getting to be a pretty good Wizard; but he is merely the assistant of the great Sorceress. I’ve the right to make a servant girl for my wife, you know, or a Glass Cat to catch our mice—which she refuses to do—but I am forbidden to work magic for others, or to use it as a profession.”
“Magic must be a very interesting study,” said Ojo.
“It truly is,” asserted the Magician. “In my time I’ve performed some magical feats that were worthy of the skill of Glinda the Good. For instance, there’s the Powder of Life, and my Liquid of Petrifaction, which is contained in that bottle on the shelf yonder—over the window.”
“What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?” inquired the boy.
“Turns everything it touches to solid marble. It’s an invention of my own, and I find it very useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs, with bodies like bears and heads like tigers, came here from the forest to attack us; but I sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and instantly they turned to marble. I now use them as ornamental statuary in my garden. This table looks to you like wood, and once it really was wood; but I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid of Petrifaction on it and now it is marble. It will never break nor wear out.”
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 196