“What kind of a well is that, sir?” asked the boy.
“One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in a gold bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it.”
“I’ll get the water from the dark well,” said Ojo.
“Then I must have three hairs from the tip of a Woozy’s tail, and a drop of oil from a live man’s body.”
Ojo looked grave at this.
“What is a Woozy, please?” he inquired.
“Some sort of an animal. I’ve never seen one, so I can’t describe it,” replied the Magician.
“If I can find a Woozy, I’ll get the hairs from its tail,” said Ojo. “But is there ever any oil in a man’s body?”
The Magician looked in the book again, to make sure.
“That’s what the recipe calls for,” he replied, “and of course we must get everything that is called for, or the charm won’t work. The book doesn’t say ‘blood’; it says ‘oil,’ and there must be oil somewhere in a live man’s body or the book wouldn’t ask for it.”
“All right,” returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; “I’ll try to find it.”
The Magician looked at the little Munchkin boy in a doubtful way and said:
“All this will mean a long journey for you; perhaps several long journeys; for you must search through several of the different countries of Oz in order to get the things I need.”
“I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save Unc Nunkie.”
“And also my poor wife Margolotte. If you save one you will save the other, for both stand there together and the same compound will restore them both to life. Do the best you can, Ojo, and while you are gone I shall begin the six years job of making a new batch of the Powder of Life. Then, if you should unluckily fail to secure any one of the things needed, I will have lost no time. But if you succeed you must return here as quickly as you can, and that will save me much tiresome stirring of four kettles with both feet and both hands.”
“I will start on my journey at once, sir,” said the boy.
“And I will go with you,” declared the Patchwork Girl.
“No, no!” exclaimed the Magician. “You have no right to leave this house. You are only a servant and have not been discharged.”
Scraps, who had been dancing up and down the room, stopped and looked at him.
“What is a servant?” she asked.
“One who serves. A—a sort of slave,” he explained.
“Very well,” said the Patchwork Girl, “I’m going to serve you and your wife by helping Ojo find the things you need. You need a lot, you know, such as are not easily found.”
“It is true,” sighed Dr. Pipt. “I am well aware that Ojo has undertaken a serious task.”
Scraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:
“Here’s a job for a boy of brains:
A drop of oil from a live man’s veins;
A six-leaved clover; three nice hairs
From a Woozy’s tail, the book declares
Are needed for the magic spell,
And water from a pitch-dark well.
The yellow wing of a butterfly
To find must Ojo also try,
And if he gets them without harm,
Doc Pipt will make the magic charm;
But if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc
Will always stand a marble chunk.”
The Magician looked at her thoughtfully.
“Poor Margolotte must have given you some of the quality of poesy, by mistake,” he said. “And, if that is true, I didn’t make a very good article when I prepared it, or else you got an overdose or an underdose. However, I believe I shall let you go with Ojo, for my poor wife will not need your services until she is restored to life. Also I think you may be able to help the boy, for your head seems to contain some thoughts I did not expect to find in it. But be very careful of yourself, for you’re a souvenir of my dear Margolotte. Try not to get ripped, or your stuffing may fall out. One of your eyes seems loose, and you may have to sew it on tighter. If you talk too much you’ll wear out your scarlet plush tongue, which ought to have been hemmed on the edges. And remember you belong to me and must return here as soon as your mission is accomplished.”
“I’m going with Scraps and Ojo,” announced the Glass Cat.
“You can’t,” said the Magician.
“Why not?”
“You’d get broken in no time, and you couldn’t be a bit of use to the boy and the Patchwork Girl.”
“I beg to differ with you,” returned the cat, in a haughty tone. “Three heads are better than two, and my pink brains are beautiful. You can see ‘em work.”
“Well, go along,” said the Magician, irritably. “You’re only an annoyance, anyhow, and I’m glad to get rid of you.”
“Thank you for nothing, then,” answered the cat, stiffly.
Dr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard and packed several things in it. Then he handed it to Ojo.
“Here is some food and a bundle of charms,” he said. “It is all I can give you, but I am sure you will find friends on your journey who will assist you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork Girl and bring her safely back, for she ought to prove useful to my wife. As for the Glass Cat—properly named Bungle—if she bothers you I now give you my permission to break her in two, for she is not respectful and does not obey me. I made a mistake in giving her the pink brains, you see.”
Then Ojo went to Unc Nunkie and kissed the old man’s marble face very tenderly.
“I’m going to try to save you, Unc,” he said, just as if the marble image could hear him; and then he shook the crooked hand of the Crooked Magician, who was already busy hanging the four kettles in the fireplace, and picking up his basket left the house.
The Patchwork Girl followed him, and after them came the Glass Cat.
Chapter Six.The Journey
Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew that the path down the mountainside led into the open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of people dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not supposed to know anything of the Land of Oz, while the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very far away from the Magician’s house. There was only one path before them, at the beginning, so they could not miss their way, and for a time they walked through the thick forest in silent thought, each one impressed with the importance of the adventure they had undertaken.
Suddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was funny to see her laugh, because her cheeks wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button eyes twinkled and her mouth curled at the corners in a comical way.
“Has something pleased you?” asked Ojo, who was feeling solemn and joyless through thinking upon his uncle’s sad fate.
“Yes,” she answered. “Your world pleases me, for it’s a queer world, and life in it is queerer still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and intended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered free as air by an accident that none of you could foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world, while the woman who made me is standing helpless as a block of wood. If that isn’t funny enough to laugh at, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re not seeing much of the world yet, my poor, innocent Scraps,” remarked the Cat. “The world doesn’t consist wholly of the trees that are on all sides of us.”
“But they’re part of it; and aren’t they pretty trees?” returned Scraps, bobbing her head until her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze. “Growing between them I can see lovely ferns and wild-flowers, and soft green mosses. If the rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be glad I’m alive.”
“I don’t know what the rest of the world is like, I’m sure,” said the cat; “but I mean to find out.”
“I have never been out of the forest,” Ojo added; “but to me the trees
are gloomy and sad and the wild-flowers seem lonesome. It must be nicer where there are no trees and there is room for lots of people to live together.”
“I wonder if any of the people we shall meet will be as splendid as I am,” said the Patchwork Girl. “All I have seen, so far, have pale, colorless skins and clothes as blue as the country they live in, while I am of many gorgeous colors—face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright and contented, Ojo, while you are blue and sad.”
“I think I made a mistake in giving you so many sorts of brains,” observed the boy. “Perhaps, as the Magician said, you have an overdose, and they may not agree with you.”
“What had you to do with my brains?” asked Scraps.
“A lot,” replied Ojo. “Old Margolotte meant to give you only a few—just enough to keep you going—but when she wasn’t looking I added a good many more, of the best kinds I could find in the Magician’s cupboard.”
“Thanks,” said the girl, dancing along the path ahead of Ojo and then dancing back to his side. “If a few brains are good, many brains must be better.”
“But they ought to be evenly balanced,” said the boy, “and I had no time to be careful. From the way you’re acting, I guess the dose was badly mixed.”
“Scraps hasn’t enough brains to hurt her, so don’t worry,” remarked the cat, which was trotting along in a very dainty and graceful manner. “The only brains worth considering are mine, which are pink. You can see ‘em work.”
After walking a long time they came to a little brook that trickled across the path, and here Ojo sat down to rest and eat something from his basket. He found that the Magician had given him part of a loaf of bread and a slice of cheese. He broke off some of the bread and was surprised to find the loaf just as large as it was before. It was the same way with the cheese: however much he broke off from the slice, it remained exactly the same size.
“Ah,” said he, nodding wisely; “that’s magic. Dr. Pipt has enchanted the bread and the cheese, so it will last me all through my journey, however much I eat.”
“Why do you put those things into your mouth?” asked Scraps, gazing at him in astonishment. “Do you need more stuffing? Then why don’t you use cotton, such as I am stuffed with?”
“I don’t need that kind,” said Ojo.
“But a mouth is to talk with, isn’t it?”
“It is also to eat with,” replied the boy. “If I didn’t put food into my mouth, and eat it, I would get hungry and starve.
“Ah, I didn’t know that,” she said. “Give me some.”
Ojo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it in her mouth.
“What next?” she asked, scarcely able to speak.
“Chew it and swallow it,” said the boy.
Scraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable to chew the bread and beyond her mouth there was no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw away the bread and laughed.
“I must get hungry and starve, for I can’t eat,” she said.
“Neither can I,” announced the cat; “but I’m not fool enough to try. Can’t you understand that you and I are superior people and not made like these poor humans?”
“Why should I understand that, or anything else?” asked the girl. “Don’t bother my head by asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me discover myself in my own way.”
With this she began amusing herself by leaping across the brook and back again.
“Be careful, or you’ll fall in the water,” warned Ojo.
“Never mind.”
“You’d better. If you get wet you’ll be soggy and can’t walk. Your colors might run, too,” he said.
“Don’t my colors run whenever I run?” she asked.
“Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the reds and greens and yellows and purples of your patches might run into each other and become just a blur—no color at all, you know.”
“Then,” said the Patchwork Girl, “I’ll be careful, for if I spoiled my splendid colors I would cease to be beautiful.”
“Pah!” sneered the Glass Cat, “such colors are not beautiful; they’re ugly, and in bad taste. Please notice that my body has no color at all. I’m transparent, except for my exquisite red heart and my lovely pink brains—you can see ‘em work.”
“Shoo—shoo—shoo!” cried Scraps, dancing around and laughing. “And your horrid green eyes, Miss Bungle! You can’t see your eyes, but we can, and I notice you’re very proud of what little color you have. Shoo, Miss Bungle, shoo—shoo—shoo! If you were all colors and many colors, as I am, you’d be too stuck up for anything.” She leaped over the cat and back again, and the startled Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her. This made Scraps laugh more heartily than ever, and she said:
“Whoop-te-doodle-doo!
The cat has lost her shoe.
Her tootsie’s bare, but she don’t care,
So what’s the odds to you?”
“Dear me, Ojo,” said the cat; “don’t you think the creature is a little bit crazy?”
“It may be,” he answered, with a puzzled look.
“If she continues her insults I’ll scratch off her suspender-button eyes,” declared the cat.
“Don’t quarrel, please,” pleaded the boy, rising to resume the journey. “Let us be good comrades and as happy and cheerful as possible, for we are likely to meet with plenty of trouble on our way.”
It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge of the forest and saw spread out before them a delightful landscape. There were broad blue fields stretching for miles over the valley, which was dotted everywhere with pretty, blue domed houses, none of which, however, was very near to the place where they stood. Just at the point where the path left the forest stood a tiny house covered with leaves from the trees, and before this stood a Munchkin man with an axe in his hand. He seemed very much surprised when Ojo and Scraps and the Glass Cat came out of the woods, but as the Patchwork Girl approached nearer he sat down upon a bench and laughed so hard that he could not speak for a long time.
This man was a woodchopper and lived all alone in the little house. He had bushy blue whiskers and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were quite old and worn.
“Mercy me!” exclaimed the woodchopper, when at last he could stop laughing. “Who would think such a funny harlequin lived in the Land of Oz? Where did you come from, Crazy-quilt?”
“Do you mean me?” asked the Patchwork Girl.
“Of course,” he replied.
“You misjudge my ancestry. I’m not a crazy-quilt; I’m patchwork,” she said.
“There’s no difference,” he replied, beginning to laugh again. “When my old grandmother sews such things together she calls it a crazy-quilt; but I never thought such a jumble could come to life.”
“It was the Magic Powder that did it,” explained Ojo.
“Oh, then you have come from the Crooked Magician on the mountain. I might have known it, for—Well, I declare! here’s a glass cat. But the Magician will get in trouble for this; it’s against the law for anyone to work magic except Glinda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you people—or things—or glass spectacles—or crazy-quilts—or whatever you are, go near the Emerald City, you’ll be arrested.”
“We’re going there, anyhow,” declared Scraps, sitting upon the bench and swinging her stuffed legs.
“If any of us takes a rest,
We’ll be arrested sure,
And get no restitution
‘Cause the rest we must endure.”
“I see,” said the woodchopper, nodding; “you’re as crazy as the crazy-quilt you’re made of.”
“She really is crazy,” remarked the Glass Cat. “But that isn’t to be wondered at when you remember how many different things she’s made of. For my part, I’m made of pure glass—except my jewel heart and my pretty pink brains. Did
you notice my brains, stranger? You can see ‘em work.”
“So I can,” replied the woodchopper; “but I can’t see that they accomplish much. A glass cat is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork Girl is really useful. She makes me laugh, and laughter is the best thing in life. There was once a woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was made all of tin, and I used to laugh every time I saw him.”
“A tin woodchopper?” said Ojo. “That is strange.”
“My friend wasn’t always tin,” said the man, “but he was careless with his axe, and used to chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm or a leg he had it replaced with tin; so after a while he was all tin.”
“And could he chop wood then?” asked the boy.
“He could if he didn’t rust his tin joints. But one day he met Dorothy in the forest and went with her to the Emerald City, where he made his fortune. He is now one of the favorites of Princess Ozma, and she has made him the Emperor of the Winkies—the Country where all is yellow.”
“Who is Dorothy?” inquired the Patchwork Girl.
“A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but is now a Princess of Oz. She’s Ozma’s best friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal palace.”
“Is Dorothy made of tin?” inquired Ojo.
“Is she patchwork, like me?” inquired Scraps.
“No,” said the man; “Dorothy is flesh, just as I am. I know of only one tin person, and that is Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will never be but one Patchwork Girl, for any magician that sees you will refuse to make another one like you.”
“I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we are going to the Country of the Winkies,” said the boy.
“What for?” asked the woodchopper.
“To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly.”
“It is a long journey,” declared the man, “and you will go through lonely parts of Oz and cross rivers and traverse dark forests before you get there.”
“Suits me all right,” said Scraps. “I’ll get a chance to see the country.”
“You’re crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag and hide there; or give yourself to some little girl to play with. Those who travel are likely to meet trouble; that’s why I stay at home.”
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 198