At the same moment that the Soldier with the Green Whiskers arrived with Ojo, the Shaggy Man entered from a side door, escorting the Patchwork Girl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat. All these came to the vacant space before the throne and stood facing the Ruler.
“Hullo, Ojo,” said Scraps; “how are you?”
“All right,” he replied; but the scene awed the boy and his voice trembled a little with fear. Nothing could awe the Patchwork Girl, and although the Woozy was somewhat uneasy in these splendid surroundings the Glass Cat was delighted with the sumptuousness of the court and the impressiveness of the occasion—pretty big words but quite expressive.
At a sign from Ozma the soldier removed Ojo’s white robe and the boy stood face to face with the girl who was to decide his punishment. He saw at a glance how lovely and sweet she was, and his heart gave a bound of joy, for he hoped she would be merciful.
Ozma sat looking at the prisoner a long time. Then she said gently:
“One of the Laws of Oz forbids anyone to pick a six-leaved clover. You are accused of having broken this Law, even after you had been warned not to do so.”
Ojo hung his head and while he hesitated how to reply the Patchwork Girl stepped forward and spoke for him.
“All this fuss is about nothing at all,” she said, facing Ozma unabashed. “You can’t prove he picked the six-leaved clover, so you’ve no right to accuse him of it. Search him, if you like, but you won’t find the clover; look in his basket and you’ll find it’s not there. He hasn’t got it, so I demand that you set this poor Munchkin boy free.”
The people of Oz listened to this defiance in amazement and wondered at the queer Patchwork Girl who dared talk so boldly to their Ruler. But Ozma sat silent and motionless and it was the little Wizard who answered Scraps.
“So the clover hasn’t been picked, eh?” he said. “I think it has. I think the boy hid it in his basket, and then gave the basket to you. I also think you dropped the clover into this vase, which stood in Princess Dorothy’s room, hoping to get rid of it so it would not prove the boy guilty. You’re a stranger here, Miss Patches, and so you don’t know that nothing can be hidden from our powerful Ruler’s Magic Picture—nor from the watchful eyes of the humble Wizard of Oz. Look, all of you!” With these words he waved his hands toward the vase on the table, which Scraps now noticed for the first time.
From the mouth of the vase a plant sprouted, slowly growing before their eyes until it became a beautiful bush, and on the topmost branch appeared the six-leaved clover which Ojo had unfortunately picked.
The Patchwork Girl looked at the clover and said: “Oh, so you’ve found it. Very well; prove he picked it, if you can.”
Ozma turned to Ojo.
“Did you pick the six-leaved clover?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “I knew it was against the Law, but I wanted to save Unc Nunkie and I was afraid if I asked your consent to pick it you would refuse me.”
“What caused you to think that?” asked the Ruler.
“Why, it seemed to me a foolish law, unjust and unreasonable. Even now I can see no harm in picking a six-leaved clover. And I—I had not seen the Emerald City, then, nor you, and I thought a girl who would make such a silly Law would not be likely to help anyone in trouble.”
Ozma regarded him musingly, her chin resting upon her hand; but she was not angry. On the contrary she smiled a little at her thoughts and then grew sober again.
“I suppose a good many laws seem foolish to those people who do not understand them,” she said; “but no law is ever made without some purpose, and that purpose is usually to protect all the people and guard their welfare. As you are a stranger, I will explain this Law which to you seems so foolish. Years ago there were many Witches and Magicians in the Land of Oz, and one of the things they often used in making their magic charms and transformations was a six-leaved clover. These Witches and Magicians caused so much trouble among my people, often using their powers for evil rather than good, that I decided to forbid anyone to practice magic or sorcery except Glinda the Good and her assistant, the Wizard of Oz, both of whom I can trust to use their arts only to benefit my people and to make them happier. Since I issued that Law the Land of Oz has been far more peaceful and quiet; but I learned that some of the Witches and Magicians were still practicing magic on the sly and using the six-leaved clovers to make their potions and charms. Therefore I made another Law forbidding anyone from plucking a six-leaved clover or from gathering other plants and herbs which the Witches boil in their kettles to work magic with. That has almost put an end to wicked sorcery in our land, so you see the Law was not a foolish one, but wise and just; and, in any event, it is wrong to disobey a Law.”
Ojo knew she was right and felt greatly mortified to realize he had acted and spoken so ridiculously. But he raised his head and looked Ozma in the face, saying:
“I am sorry I have acted wrongly and broken your Law. I did it to save Unc Nunkie, and thought I would not be found out. But I am guilty of this act and whatever punishment you think I deserve I will suffer willingly.”
Ozma smiled more brightly, then, and nodded graciously.
“You are forgiven,” she said. “For, although you have committed a serious fault, you are now penitent and I think you have been punished enough. Soldier, release Ojo the Lucky and—”
“I beg your pardon; I’m Ojo the Unlucky,” said the boy.
“At this moment you are lucky,” said she. “Release him, Soldier, and let him go free.”
The people were glad to hear Ozma’s decree and murmured their approval. As the royal audience was now over, they began to leave the Throne Room and soon there were none remaining except Ojo and his friends and Ozma and her favorites.
The girl Ruler now asked Ojo to sit down and tell her all his story, which he did, beginning at the time he had left his home in the forest and ending with his arrival at the Emerald City and his arrest. Ozma listened attentively and was thoughtful for some moments after the boy had finished speaking. Then she said:
“The Crooked Magician was wrong to make the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl, for it was against the Law. And if he had not unlawfully kept the bottle of Liquid of Petrifaction standing on his shelf, the accident to his wife Margolotte and to Unc Nunkie could not have occurred. I can understand, however, that Ojo, who loves his uncle, will be unhappy unless he can save him. Also I feel it is wrong to leave those two victims standing as marble statues, when they ought to be alive. So I propose we allow Dr. Pipt to make the magic charm which will save them, and that we assist Ojo to find the things he is seeking. What do you think, Wizard?”
“That is perhaps the best thing to do,” replied the Wizard. “But after the Crooked Magician has restored those poor people to life you must take away his magic powers.”
“I will,” promised Ozma.
“Now tell me, please, what magic things must you find?” continued the Wizard, addressing Ojo.
“The three hairs from the Woozy’s tail I have,” said the boy. “That is, I have the Woozy, and the hairs are in his tail. The six-leaved clover I—I—”
“You may take it and keep it,” said Ozma. “That will not be breaking the Law, for it is already picked, and the crime of picking it is forgiven.”
“Thank you!” cried Ojo gratefully. Then he continued: “The next thing I must find is a gill of water from a dark well.”
The Wizard shook his head. “That,” said he, “will be a hard task, but if you travel far enough you may discover it.”
“I am willing to travel for years, if it will save Unc Nunkie,” declared Ojo, earnestly.
“Then you’d better begin your journey at once,” advised the Wizard.
Dorothy had been listening with interest to this conversation. Now she turned to Ozma and asked: “May I go with Ojo, to help him?”
“Would you like to?” r
eturned Ozma.
“Yes. I know Oz pretty well, but Ojo doesn’t know it at all. I’m sorry for his uncle and poor Margolotte and I’d like to help save them. May I go?”
“If you wish to,” replied Ozma.
“If Dorothy goes, then I must go to take care of her,” said the Scarecrow, decidedly. “A dark well can only be discovered in some out-of-the-way place, and there may be dangers there.”
“You have my permission to accompany Dorothy,” said Ozma. “And while you are gone I will take care of the Patchwork Girl.”
“I’ll take care of myself,” announced Scraps, “for I’m going with the Scarecrow and Dorothy. I promised Ojo to help him find the things he wants and I’ll stick to my promise.”
“Very well,” replied Ozma. “But I see no need for Ojo to take the Glass Cat and the Woozy.”
“I prefer to remain here,” said the cat. “I’ve nearly been nicked half a dozen times, already, and if they’re going into dangers it’s best for me to keep away from them.”
“Let Jellia Jamb keep her till Ojo returns,” suggested Dorothy. “We won’t need to take the Woozy, either, but he ought to be saved because of the three hairs in his tail.”
“Better take me along,” said the Woozy. “My eyes can flash fire, you know, and I can growl—a little.”
“I’m sure you’ll be safer here,” Ozma decided, and the Woozy made no further objection to the plan.
After consulting together they decided that Ojo and his party should leave the very next day to search for the gill of water from a dark well, so they now separated to make preparations for the journey.
Ozma gave the Munchkin boy a room in the palace for that night and the afternoon he passed with Dorothy—getting acquainted, as she said—and receiving advice from the Shaggy Man as to where they must go. The Shaggy Man had wandered in many parts of Oz, and so had Dorothy, for that matter, yet neither of them knew where a dark well was to be found.
“If such a thing is anywhere in the settled parts of Oz,” said Dorothy, “we’d prob’ly have heard of it long ago. If it’s in the wild parts of the country, no one there would need a dark well. P’raps there isn’t such a thing.”
“Oh, there must be!” returned Ojo, positively; “or else the recipe of Dr. Pipt wouldn’t call for it.”
“That’s true,” agreed Dorothy; “and, if it’s anywhere in the Land of Oz, we’re bound to find it.”
“Well, we’re bound to search for it, anyhow,” said the Scarecrow. “As for finding it, we must trust to luck.”
“Don’t do that,” begged Ojo, earnestly. “I’m called Ojo the Unlucky, you know.”
Chapter Nineteen.Trouble with the Tottenhots
A day’s journey from the Emerald City brought the little band of adventurers to the home of Jack Pumpkinhead, which was a house formed from the shell of an immense pumpkin. Jack had made it himself and was very proud of it. There was a door, and several windows, and through the top was stuck a stovepipe that led from a small stove inside. The door was reached by a flight of three steps and there was a good floor on which was arranged some furniture that was quite comfortable.
It is certain that Jack Pumpkinhead might have had a much finer house to live in had he wanted it, for Ozma loved the stupid fellow, who had been her earliest companion; but Jack preferred his pumpkin house, as it matched himself very well, and in this he was not so stupid, after all.
The body of this remarkable person was made of wood, branches of trees of various sizes having been used for the purpose. This wooden framework was covered by a red shirt—with white spots in it—blue trousers, a yellow vest, a jacket of green-and-gold and stout leather shoes. The neck was a sharpened stick on which the pumpkin head was set, and the eyes, ears, nose and mouth were carved on the skin of the pumpkin, very like a child’s jack-o’-lantern.
The house of this interesting creation stood in the center of a vast pumpkin-field, where the vines grew in profusion and bore pumpkins of extraordinary size as well as those which were smaller. Some of the pumpkins now ripening on the vines were almost as large as Jack’s house, and he told Dorothy he intended to add another pumpkin to his mansion.
The travelers were cordially welcomed to this quaint domicile and invited to pass the night there, which they had planned to do. The Patchwork Girl was greatly interested in Jack and examined him admiringly.
“You are quite handsome,” she said; “but not as really beautiful as the Scarecrow.”
Jack turned, at this, to examine the Scarecrow critically, and his old friend slyly winked one painted eye at him.
“There is no accounting for tastes,” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh. “An old crow once told me I was very fascinating, but of course the bird might have been mistaken. Yet I have noticed that the crows usually avoid the Scarecrow, who is a very honest fellow, in his way, but stuffed. I am not stuffed, you will observe; my body is good solid hickory.”
“I adore stuffing,” said the Patchwork Girl.
“Well, as for that, my head is stuffed with pumpkin-seeds,” declared Jack. “I use them for brains, and when they are fresh I am intellectual. Just now, I regret to say, my seeds are rattling a bit, so I must soon get another head.”
“Oh; do you change your head?” asked Ojo.
“To be sure. Pumpkins are not permanent, more’s the pity, and in time they spoil. That is why I grow such a great field of pumpkins—that I may select a new head whenever necessary.”
“Who carves the faces on them?” inquired the boy.
“I do that myself. I lift off my old head, place it on a table before me, and use the face for a pattern to go by. Sometimes the faces I carve are better than others—more expressive and cheerful, you know—but I think they average very well.”
Before she had started on the journey Dorothy had packed a knapsack with the things she might need, and this knapsack the Scarecrow carried strapped to his back. The little girl wore a plain gingham dress and a checked sunbonnet, as she knew they were best fitted for travel. Ojo also had brought along his basket, to which Ozma had added a bottle of “Square Meal Tablets” and some fruit. But Jack Pumpkinhead grew a lot of things in his garden besides pumpkins, so he cooked for them a fine vegetable soup and gave Dorothy, Ojo and Toto, the only ones who found it necessary to eat, a pumpkin pie and some green cheese. For beds they must use the sweet dried grasses which Jack had strewn along one side of the room, but that satisfied Dorothy and Ojo very well. Toto, of course, slept beside his little mistress.
The Scarecrow, Scraps and the Pumpkinhead were tireless and had no need to sleep, so they sat up and talked together all night; but they stayed outside the house, under the bright stars, and talked in low tones so as not to disturb the sleepers. During the conversation the Scarecrow explained their quest for a dark well, and asked Jack’s advice where to find it.
The Pumpkinhead considered the matter gravely.
“That is going to be a difficult task,” said he, “and if I were you I’d take any ordinary well and enclose it, so as to make it dark.”
“I fear that wouldn’t do,” replied the Scarecrow. “The well must be naturally dark, and the water must never have seen the light of day, for otherwise the magic charm might not work at all.”
“How much of the water do you need?” asked Jack.
“A gill.”
“How much is a gill?”
“Why—a gill is a gill, of course,” answered the Scarecrow, who did not wish to display his ignorance.
“I know!” cried Scraps. “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch—”
“No, no; that’s wrong,” interrupted the Scarecrow. “There are two kinds of gills, I think; one is a girl, and the other is—”
“A gillyflower,” said Jack.
“No; a measure.”
“How big a measure?”
“Wel
l, I’ll ask Dorothy.”
So next morning they asked Dorothy, and she said:
“I don’t just know how much a gill is, but I’ve brought along a gold flask that holds a pint. That’s more than a gill, I’m sure, and the Crooked Magician may measure it to suit himself. But the thing that’s bothering us most, Jack, is to find the well.”
Jack gazed around the landscape, for he was standing in the doorway of his house.
“This is a flat country, so you won’t find any dark wells here,” said he. “You must go into the mountains, where rocks and caverns are.”
“And where is that?” asked Ojo.
“In the Quadling Country, which lies south of here,” replied the Scarecrow. “I’ve known all along that we must go to the mountains.”
“So have I,” said Dorothy.
“But—goodness me!—the Quadling Country is full of dangers,” declared Jack. “I’ve never been there myself, but—”
“I have,” said the Scarecrow. “I’ve faced the dreadful Hammerheads, which have no arms and butt you like a goat; and I’ve faced the Fighting Trees, which bend down their branches to pound and whip you, and had many other adventures there.”
“It’s a wild country,” remarked Dorothy, soberly, “and if we go there we’re sure to have troubles of our own. But I guess we’ll have to go, if we want that gill of water from the dark well.”
So they said good-bye to the Pumpkinhead and resumed their travels, heading now directly toward the South Country, where mountains and rocks and caverns and forests of great trees abounded. This part of the Land of Oz, while it belonged to Ozma and owed her allegiance, was so wild and secluded that many queer peoples hid in its jungles and lived in their own way, without even a knowledge that they had a Ruler in the Emerald City. If they were left alone, these creatures never troubled the inhabitants of the rest of Oz, but those who invaded their domains encountered many dangers from them.
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 207