The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  The Scarecrow’s face was very interesting, for it bore a comical and yet winning expression, although one eye was a bit larger than the other and ears were not mates. The Munchkin farmer who had made the Scarecrow had neglected to sew him together with close stitches and therefore some of the straw with which he was stuffed was inclined to stick out between the seams. His hands consisted of padded white gloves, with the fingers long and rather limp, and on his feet he wore Munchkin boots of blue leather with broad turns at the tops of them.

  The Sawhorse was almost as curious as its rider. It had been rudely made, in the beginning, to saw logs upon, so that its body was a short length of a log, and its legs were stout branches fitted into four holes made in the body. The tail was formed by a small branch that had been left on the log, while the head was a gnarled bump on one end of the body. Two knots of wood formed the eyes, and the mouth was a gash chopped in the log. When the Sawhorse first came to life it had no ears at all, and so could not hear; but the boy who then owned him had whittled two ears out of bark and stuck them in the head, after which the Sawhorse heard very distinctly.

  This queer wooden horse was a great favorite with Princess Ozma, who had caused the bottoms of its legs to be shod with plates of gold, so the wood would not wear away. Its saddle was made of cloth-of-gold richly encrusted with precious gems. It had never worn a bridle.

  As the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of travelers, he reined in his wooden steed and dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling nod. Then he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl in wonder, while she in turn stared at him.

  “Shags,” he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man aside, “pat me into shape, there’s a good fellow!”

  While his friend punched and patted the Scarecrow’s body, to smooth out the humps, Scraps turned to Ojo and whispered: “Roll me out, please; I’ve sagged down dreadfully from walking so much and men like to see a stately figure.”

  She then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled her back and forth like a rolling-pin, until the cotton had filled all the spaces in her patchwork covering and the body had lengthened to its fullest extent. Scraps and the Scarecrow both finished their hasty toilets at the same time, and again they faced each other.

  “Allow me, Miss Patchwork,” said the Shaggy Man, “to present my friend, the Right Royal Scarecrow of Oz. Scarecrow, this is Miss Scraps Patches; Scraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow—Scraps; Scraps—Scarecrow.”

  They both bowed with much dignity.

  “Forgive me for staring so rudely,” said the Scarecrow, “but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld.”

  “That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,” murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head. “But, tell me, good sir, are you not a trifle lumpy?”

  “Yes, of course; that’s my straw, you know. It bunches up, sometimes, in spite of all my efforts to keep it even. Doesn’t your straw ever bunch?”

  “Oh, I’m stuffed with cotton,” said Scraps. “It never bunches, but it’s inclined to pack down and make me sag.”

  “But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say it is even more stylish, not to say aristocratic, than straw,” said the Scarecrow politely. “Still, it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely should have the best stuffing there is going. I—er—I’m so glad I’ve met you, Miss Scraps! Introduce us again, Shaggy.”

  “Once is enough,” replied the Shaggy Man, laughing at his friend’s enthusiasm.

  “Then tell me where you found her, and—Dear me, what a queer cat! What are you made of—gelatine?”

  “Pure glass,” answered the cat, proud to have attracted the Scarecrow’s attention. “I am much more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I’m transparent, and Scraps isn’t; I’ve pink brains—you can see ‘em work; and I’ve a ruby heart, finely polished, while Scraps hasn’t any heart at all.”

  “No more have I,” said the Scarecrow, shaking hands with Scraps, as if to congratulate her on the fact. “I’ve a friend, the Tin Woodman, who has a heart, but I find I get along pretty well without one. And so—Well, well! here’s a little Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my little man. How are you?”

  Ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove that served the Scarecrow for a hand, and the Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the straw in his glove crackled.

  Meantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse and begun to sniff at it. The Sawhorse resented this familiarity and with a sudden kick pounded the Woozy squarely on its head with one gold-shod foot.

  “Take that, you monster!” it cried angrily.

  The Woozy never even winked.

  “To be sure,” he said; “I’ll take anything I have to. But don’t make me angry, you wooden beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you up.”

  The Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly and kicked again, but the Woozy trotted away and said to the Scarecrow:

  “What a sweet disposition that creature has! I advise you to chop it up for kindling-wood and use me to ride upon. My back is flat and you can’t fall off.”

  “I think the trouble is that you haven’t been properly introduced,” said the Scarecrow, regarding the Woozy with much wonder, for he had never seen such a queer animal before.

  “The Sawhorse is the favorite steed of Princess Ozma, the Ruler of the Land of Oz, and he lives in a stable decorated with pearls and emeralds, at the rear of the royal palace. He is swift as the wind, untiring, and is kind to his friends. All the people of Oz respect the Sawhorse highly, and when I visit Ozma she sometimes allows me to ride him—as I am doing to-day. Now you know what an important personage the Sawhorse is, and if some one—perhaps yourself—will tell me your name, your rank and station, and your history, it will give me pleasure to relate them to the Sawhorse. This will lead to mutual respect and friendship.”

  The Woozy was somewhat abashed by this speech and did not know how to reply. But Ojo said:

  “This square beast is called the Woozy, and he isn’t of much importance except that he has three hairs growing on the tip of his tail.”

  The Scarecrow looked and saw that this was true.

  “But,” said he, in a puzzled way, “what makes those three hairs important? The Shaggy Man has thousands of hairs, but no one has ever accused him of being important.”

  So Ojo related the sad story of Unc Nunkie’s transformation into a marble statue, and told how he had set out to find the things the Crooked Magician wanted, in order to make a charm that would restore his uncle to life. One of the requirements was three hairs from a Woozy’s tail, but not being able to pull out the hairs they had been obliged to take the Woozy with them.

  The Scarecrow looked grave as he listened and he shook his head several times, as if in disapproval.

  “We must see Ozma about this matter,” he said. “That Crooked Magician is breaking the Law by practicing magic without a license, and I’m not sure Ozma will allow him to restore your uncle to life.”

  “Already I have warned the boy of that,” declared the Shaggy Man.

  At this Ojo began to cry. “I want my Unc Nunkie!” he exclaimed. “I know how he can be restored to life, and I’m going to do it—Ozma or no Ozma! What right has this girl Ruler to keep my Unc Nunkie a statue forever?”

  “Don’t worry about that just now,” advised the Scarecrow. “Go on to the Emerald City, and when you reach it have the Shaggy Man take you to see Dorothy. Tell her your story and I’m sure she will help you. Dorothy is Ozma’s best friend, and if you can win her to your side your uncle is pretty safe to live again.” Then he turned to the Woozy and said: “I’m afraid you are not important enough to be introduced to the Sawhorse, after all.”

  “I’m a better beast than he is,” retorted the Woozy, indignantly. “My eyes can flash fire, and his can’t.”

  “Is this true?” in
quired the Scarecrow, turning to the Munchkin boy.

  “Yes,” said Ojo, and told how the Woozy had set fire to the fence.

  “Have you any other accomplishments?” asked the Scarecrow.

  “I have a most terrible growl—that is, sometimes,” said the Woozy, as Scraps laughed merrily and the Shaggy Man smiled. But the Patchwork Girl’s laugh made the Scarecrow forget all about the Woozy. He said to her:

  “What an admirable young lady you are, and what jolly good company! We must be better acquainted, for never before have I met a girl with such exquisite coloring or such natural, artless manners.”

  “No wonder they call you the Wise Scarecrow,” replied Scraps.

  “When you arrive at the Emerald City I will see you again,” continued the Scarecrow. “Just now I am going to call upon an old friend—an ordinary young lady named Jinjur—who has promised to repaint my left ear for me. You may have noticed that the paint on my left ear has peeled off and faded, which affects my hearing on that side. Jinjur always fixes me up when I get weather-worn.”

  “When do you expect to return to the Emerald City?” asked the Shaggy Man.

  “I’ll be there this evening, for I’m anxious to have a long talk with Miss Scraps. How is it, Sawhorse; are you equal to a swift run?”

  “Anything that suits you suits me,” returned the wooden horse.

  So the Scarecrow mounted to the jeweled saddle and waved his hat, when the Sawhorse darted away so swiftly that they were out of sight in an instant.

  Chapter Fourteen.Ojo Breaks the Law

  “What a queer man,” remarked the Munchkin boy, when the party had resumed its journey.

  “And so nice and polite,” added Scraps, bobbing her head. “I think he is the handsomest man I’ve seen since I came to life.”

  “Handsome is as handsome does,” quoted the Shaggy Man; “but we must admit that no living scarecrow is handsomer. The chief merit of my friend is that he is a great thinker, and in Oz it is considered good policy to follow his advice.”

  “I didn’t notice any brains in his head,” observed the Glass Cat.

  “You can’t see ‘em work, but they’re there, all right,” declared the Shaggy Man. “I hadn’t much confidence in his brains myself, when first I came to Oz, for a humbug Wizard gave them to him; but I was soon convinced that the Scarecrow is really wise; and, unless his brains make him so, such wisdom is unaccountable.”

  “Is the Wizard of Oz a humbug?” asked Ojo.

  “Not now. He was once, but he has reformed and now assists Glinda the Good, who is the Royal Sorceress of Oz and the only one licensed to practice magic or sorcery. Glinda has taught our old Wizard a good many clever things, so he is no longer a humbug.”

  They walked a little while in silence and then Ojo said:

  “If Ozma forbids the Crooked Magician to restore Unc Nunkie to life, what shall I do?”

  The Shaggy Man shook his head.

  “In that case you can’t do anything,” he said. “But don’t be discouraged yet. We will go to Princess Dorothy and tell her your troubles, and then we will let her talk to Ozma. Dorothy has the kindest little heart in the world, and she has been through so many troubles herself that she is sure to sympathize with you.”

  “Is Dorothy the little girl who came here from Kansas?” asked the boy.

  “Yes. In Kansas she was Dorothy Gale. I used to know her there, and she brought me to the Land of Oz. But now Ozma has made her a Princess, and Dorothy’s Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are here, too.” Here the Shaggy Man uttered a long sigh, and then he continued: “It’s a queer country, this Land of Oz; but I like it, nevertheless.”

  “What is queer about it?” asked Scraps.

  “You, for instance,” said he.

  “Did you see no girls as beautiful as I am in your own country?” she inquired.

  “None with the same gorgeous, variegated beauty,” he confessed. “In America a girl stuffed with cotton wouldn’t be alive, nor would anyone think of making a girl out of a patchwork quilt.”

  “What a queer country America must be!” she exclaimed in great surprise. “The Scarecrow, whom you say is wise, told me I am the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.”

  “I know; and perhaps you are—from a scarecrow point of view,” replied the Shaggy Man; but why he smiled as he said it Scraps could not imagine.

  As they drew nearer to the Emerald City the travelers were filled with admiration for the splendid scenery they beheld. Handsome houses stood on both sides of the road and each had a green lawn before it as well as a pretty flower garden.

  “In another hour,” said the Shaggy Man, “we shall come in sight of the walls of the Royal City.”

  He was walking ahead, with Scraps, and behind them came the Woozy and the Glass Cat. Ojo had lagged behind, for in spite of the warnings he had received the boy’s eyes were fastened on the clover that bordered the road of yellow bricks and he was eager to discover if such a thing as a six-leaved clover really existed.

  Suddenly he stopped short and bent over to examine the ground more closely. Yes; here at last was a clover with six spreading leaves. He counted them carefully, to make sure. In an instant his heart leaped with joy, for this was one of the important things he had come for—one of the things that would restore dear Unc Nunkie to life.

  He glanced ahead and saw that none of his companions was looking back. Neither were any other people about, for it was midway between two houses. The temptation was too strong to be resisted.

  “I might search for weeks and weeks, and never find another six-leaved clover,” he told himself, and quickly plucking the stem from the plant he placed the prized clover in his basket, covering it with the other things he carried there. Then, trying to look as if nothing had happened, he hurried forward and overtook his comrades.

  The Emerald City, which is the most splendid as well as the most beautiful city in any fairyland, is surrounded by a high, thick wall of green marble, polished smooth and set with glistening emeralds. There are four gates, one facing the Munchkin Country, one facing the Country of the Winkies, one facing the Country of the Quadlings and one facing the Country of the Gillikins. The Emerald City lies directly in the center of these four important countries of Oz. The gates had bars of pure gold, and on either side of each gateway were built high towers, from which floated gay banners. Other towers were set at distances along the walls, which were broad enough for four people to walk abreast upon.

  This enclosure, all green and gold and glittering with precious gems, was indeed a wonderful sight to greet our travelers, who first observed it from the top of a little hill; but beyond the wall was the vast city it surrounded, and hundreds of jeweled spires, domes and minarets, flaunting flags and banners, reared their crests far above the towers of the gateways. In the center of the city our friends could see the tops of many magnificent trees, some nearly as tall as the spires of the buildings, and the Shaggy Man told them that these trees were in the royal gardens of Princess Ozma.

  They stood a long time on the hilltop, feasting their eyes on the splendor of the Emerald City.

  “Whee!” exclaimed Scraps, clasping her padded hands in ecstacy, “that’ll do for me to live in, all right. No more of the Munchkin Country for these patches—and no more of the Crooked Magician!”

  “Why, you belong to Dr. Pipt,” replied Ojo, looking at her in amazement. “You were made for a servant, Scraps, so you are personal property and not your own mistress.”

  “Bother Dr. Pipt! If he wants me, let him come here and get me. I’ll not go back to his den of my own accord; that’s certain. Only one place in the Land of Oz is fit to live in, and that’s the Emerald City. It’s lovely! It’s almost as beautiful as I am, Ojo.”

  “In this country,” remarked the Shaggy Man, “people live wherever our Ruler tells them to. It wouldn’t do to have everyone
live in the Emerald City, you know, for some must plow the land and raise grains and fruits and vegetables, while others chop wood in the forests, or fish in the rivers, or herd the sheep and the cattle.”

  “Poor things!” said Scraps.

  “I’m not sure they are not happier than the city people,” replied the Shaggy Man. “There’s a freedom and independence in country life that not even the Emerald City can give one. I know that lots of the city people would like to get back to the land. The Scarecrow lives in the country, and so do the Tin Woodman and Jack Pumpkinhead; yet all three would be welcome to live in Ozma’s palace if they cared to. Too much splendor becomes tiresome, you know. But, if we’re to reach the Emerald City before sundown, we must hurry, for it is yet a long way off.”

  The entrancing sight of the city had put new energy into them all and they hurried forward with lighter steps than before. There was much to interest them along the roadway, for the houses were now set more closely together and they met a good many people who were coming or going from one place or another. All these seemed happy-faced, pleasant people, who nodded graciously to the strangers as they passed, and exchanged words of greeting.

  At last they reached the great gateway, just as the sun was setting and adding its red glow to the glitter of the emeralds on the green walls and spires. Somewhere inside the city a band could be heard playing sweet music; a soft, subdued hum, as of many voices, reached their ears; from the neighboring yards came the low mooing of cows waiting to be milked.

  They were almost at the gate when the golden bars slid back and a tall soldier stepped out and faced them. Ojo thought he had never seen so tall a man before. The soldier wore a handsome green and gold uniform, with a tall hat in which was a waving plume, and he had a belt thickly encrusted with jewels. But the most peculiar thing about him was his long green beard, which fell far below his waist and perhaps made him seem taller than he really was.