The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  The Tin Woodman lived in a magnificent tin castle, built on his country estate in the Winkie Land, not far from the Emerald City of Oz. It had pretty tin furniture and was surrounded by lovely gardens in which were many tin trees and beds of tin flowers. The palace of the Scarecrow was not far distant, on the banks of a river, and this palace was in the shape of an immense ear of corn.

  One morning the Tin Woodman went to visit his friend the Scarecrow, and as they had nothing better to do they decided to take a boat ride on the river. So they got into the Scarecrow’s boat, which was formed from a big corncob, hollowed out and pointed at both ends and decorated around the edges with brilliant jewels. The sail was of purple silk and glittered gayly in the sunshine.

  There was a good breeze that day, so the boat glided swiftly over the water. By and by they came to a smaller river that flowed from out a deep forest, and the Tin Woodman proposed they sail up this stream, as it would be cool and shady beneath the trees of the forest. So the Scarecrow, who was steering, turned the boat up the stream and the friends continued talking together of old times and the wonderful adventures they had met with while traveling with Dorothy, the little Kansas girl. They became so much interested in this talk that they forgot to notice that the boat was now sailing through the forest, or that the stream was growing more narrow and crooked.

  Suddenly the Scarecrow glanced up and saw a big rock just ahead of them.

  “Look out!” he cried; but the warning came too late.

  The Tin Woodman sprang to his feet just as the boat bumped into the rock, and the jar made him lose his balance. He toppled and fell overboard and being made of tin he sank to the bottom of the water in an instant and lay there at full length, face up.

  Immediately the Scarecrow threw out the anchor, so as to hold the boat in that place, and then he leaned over the side and through the clear water looked at his friend sorrowfully.

  “Dear me!” he exclaimed; “what a misfortune!”

  “It is, indeed,” replied the Tin Woodman, speaking in muffled tones because so much water covered him. “I cannot drown, of course, but I must lie here until you find a way to get me out. Meantime, the water is soaking into all my joints and I shall become badly rusted before I am rescued.”

  “Very true,” agreed the Scarecrow; “but be patient, my friend, and I’ll dive down and get you. My straw will not rust, and is easily replaced, if damaged, so I’m not afraid of the water.”

  The Scarecrow now took off his hat and made a dive from the boat into the water; but he was so light in weight that he barely dented the surface of the stream, nor could he reach the Tin Woodman with his outstretched straw arms. So he floated to the boat and climbed into it, saying the while:

  “Do not despair, my friend. We have an extra anchor aboard, and I will tie it around my waist, to make me sink, and dive again.”

  “Don’t do that!” called the tin man. “That would anchor you also to the bottom, where I am, and we’d both be helpless.”

  “True enough,” sighed the Scarecrow, wiping his wet face with a handkerchief; and then he gave a cry of astonishment, for he found he had wiped off one painted eye and now had but one eye to see with.

  “How dreadful!” said the poor Scarecrow. “That eye must have been painted in water-color, instead of oil. I must be careful not to wipe off the other eye, for then I could not see to help you at all.”

  A shriek of elfish laughter greeted this speech and looking up the Scarecrow found the trees full of black crows, who seemed much amused by the straw man’s one-eyed countenance. He knew the crows well, however, and they had usually been friendly to him because he had never deceived them into thinking he was a meat man—the sort of man they really feared.

  “Don’t laugh,” said he; “you may lose an eye yourselves some day.”

  “We couldn’t look as funny as you, if we did,” replied one old crow, the king of them. “But what has gone wrong with you?”

  “The Tin Woodman, my dear friend and companion, has fallen overboard and is now on the bottom of the river,” said the Scarecrow. “I’m trying to get him out again, but I fear I shall not succeed.”

  “Why, it’s easy enough,” declared the old crow. “Tie a string to him and all of my crows will fly down, take hold of the string, and pull him up out of the water. There are hundreds of us here, so our united strength could lift much more than that.”

  “But I can’t tie a string to him,” replied the Scarecrow. “My straw is so light that I am unable to dive through the water. I’ve tried it, and knocked one eye out.”

  “Can’t you fish for him?”

  “Ah, that is a good idea,” said the Scarecrow. “I’ll make the attempt.”

  He found a fishline in the boat, with a stout hook at the end of it. No bait was needed, so the Scarecrow dropped the hook into the water till it touched the Woodman.

  “Hook it into a joint,” advised the crow, who was now perched upon a branch that stuck far out and bent down over the water.

  The Scarecrow tried to do this, but having only one eye he could not see the joints very clearly.

  “Hurry up, please,” begged the Tin Woodman; “you’ve no idea how damp it is down here.”

  “Can’t you help?” asked the crow.

  “How?” inquired the tin man.

  “Catch the line and hook it around your neck.”

  The Tin Woodman made the attempt and after several trials wound the line around his neck and hooked it securely.

  “Good!” cried the King Crow, a mischievous old fellow. “Now, then, we’ll all grab the line and pull you out.”

  At once the air was filled with black crows, each of whom seized the cord with beak or talons. The Scarecrow watched them with much interest and forgot that he had tied the other end of the line around his own waist, so he would not lose it while fishing for his friend.

  “All together for the good caws!” shrieked the King Crow, and with a great flapping of wings the birds rose into the air.

  The Scarecrow clapped his stuffed hands in glee as he saw his friend drawn from the water into the air; but the next moment the straw man was himself in the air, his stuffed legs kicking wildly; for the crows had flown straight up through the trees. On one end of the line dangled the Tin Woodman, hung by the neck, and on the other dangled the Scarecrow, hung by the waist and clinging fast to the spare anchor of the boat, which he had seized hoping to save himself.

  “Hi, there—be careful!” shouted the Scarecrow to the crows. “Don’t take us so high. Land us on the river bank.”

  But the crows were bent on mischief. They thought it a good joke to bother the two, now that they held them captive.

  “Here’s where the crows scare the Scarecrow!” chuckled the naughty King Crow, and at his command the birds flew over the forest to where a tall dead tree stood higher than all the other trees. At the very top was a crotch, formed by two dead limbs, and into the crotch the crows dropped the center of the line. Then, letting go their hold, they flew away, chattering with laughter, and left the two friends suspended high in the air—one on each side of the tree.

  Now the Tin Woodman was much heavier than the Scarecrow, but the reason they balanced so nicely was because the straw man still clung fast to the iron anchor. There they hung, not ten feet apart, yet unable to reach the bare tree-trunk.

  “For goodness sake don’t drop that anchor,” said the Tin Woodman anxiously.

  “Why not?” inquired the Scarecrow.

  “If you did I’d tumble to the ground, where my tin would be badly dented by the fall. Also you would shoot into the air and alight somewhere among the tree-tops.”

  “Then,” said the Scarecrow, earnestly, “I shall hold fast to the anchor.”

  For a time they both dangled in silence, the breeze swaying them gently to and fro. Finally the tin man said: “Here is an emergency
, friend, where only brains can help us. We must think of some way to escape.”

  “I’ll do the thinking,” replied the Scarecrow. “My brains are the sharpest.”

  He thought so long that the tin man grew tired and tried to change his position, but found his joints had already rusted so badly that he could not move them. And his oil-can was back in the boat.

  “Do you suppose your brains are rusted, friend Scarecrow?” he asked in a weak voice, for his jaws would scarcely move.

  “No, indeed. Ah, here’s an idea at last!”

  And with this the Scarecrow clapped his hands to his head, forgetting the anchor, which tumbled to the ground. The result was astonishing; for, just as the tin man had said, the light Scarecrow flew into the air, sailed over the top of the tree and landed in a bramble-bush, while the tin man fell plump to the ground, and landing on a bed of dry leaves was not dented at all. The Tin Woodman’s joints were so rusted, however, that he was unable to move, while the thorns held the Scarecrow a fast prisoner.

  While they were in this sad plight the sound of hoofs was heard and along the forest path rode the little Wizard of Oz, seated on a wooden Sawhorse. He smiled when he saw the one-eyed head of the Scarecrow sticking out of the bramble-bush, but he helped the poor straw man out of his prison.

  “Thank you, dear Wiz,” said the grateful Scarecrow. “Now we must get the oil-can and rescue the Tin Woodman.”

  Together they ran to the river bank, but the boat was floating in midstream and the Wizard was obliged to mumble some magic words to draw it to the bank, so the Scarecrow could get the oil-can. Then back they flew to the tin man, and while the Scarecrow carefully oiled each joint the little Wizard moved the joints gently back and forth until they worked freely. After an hour of this labor the Tin Woodman was again on his feet, and although still a little stiff he managed to walk to the boat.

  The Wizard and the Sawhorse also got aboard the corncob craft and together they returned to the Scarecrow’s palace. But the Tin Woodman was very careful not to stand up in the boat again.

  Tik-Tok of Oz L. Frank Baum

  To My Readers

  The very marked success of my last year’s fairy book, “The Patchwork Girl of Oz,” convinces me that my readers like the Oz stories “best of all,” as one little girl wrote me. So here, my dears, is a new Oz story in which is introduced Ann Soforth, the Queen of Oogaboo, whom Tik-Tok assisted in conquering our old acquaintance, the Nome King. It also tells of Betsy Bobbin and how, after many adventures, she finally reached the marvelous Land of Oz.

  There is a play called “The Tik-Tok Man of Oz,” but it is not like this story of “Tik-Tok of Oz,” although some of the adventures recorded in this book, as well as those in several other Oz books, are included in the play. Those who have seen the play and those who have read the other Oz books will find in this story a lot of strange characters and adventures that they have never heard of before.

  In the letters I receive from children there has been an urgent appeal for me to write a story that will take Trot and Cap’n Bill to the Land of Oz, where they will meet Dorothy and Ozma. Also they think Button-Bright ought to get acquainted with Ojo the Lucky. As you know, I am obliged to talk these matters over with Dorothy by means of the “wireless,” for that is the only way I can communicate with the Land of Oz. When I asked her about this idea, she replied: “Why, haven’t you heard?” I said “No.” “Well,” came the message over the wireless, “I’ll tell you all about it, by and by, and then you can make a book of that story for the children to read.”

  So, if Dorothy keeps her word and I am permitted to write another Oz book, you will probably discover how all these characters came together in the famous Emerald City. Meantime, I want to tell all my little friends—whose numbers are increasing by many thousands every year—that I am very grateful for the favor they have shown my books and for the delightful little letters I am constantly receiving. I am almost sure that I have as many friends among the children of America as any story writer alive; and this, of course, makes me very proud and happy.

  L. Frank Baum.

  “OZCOT”

  at HOLLYWOOD

  in CALIFORNIA,

  1914.

  Chapter One.Ann’s Army

  “I won’t!” cried Ann; “I won’t sweep the floor. It is beneath my dignity.”

  “Some one must sweep it,” replied Ann’s younger sister, Salye; “else we shall soon be wading in dust. And you are the eldest, and the head of the family.”

  “I’m Queen of Oogaboo,” said Ann, proudly. “But,” she added with a sigh, “my kingdom is the smallest and the poorest in all the Land of Oz.”

  This was quite true. Away up in the mountains, in a far corner of the beautiful fairyland of Oz, lies a small valley which is named Oogaboo, and in this valley lived a few people who were usually happy and contented and never cared to wander over the mountain pass into the more settled parts of the land. They knew that all of Oz, including their own territory, was ruled by a beautiful Princess named Ozma, who lived in the splendid Emerald City; yet the simple folk of Oogaboo never visited Ozma. They had a royal family of their own—not especially to rule over them, but just as a matter of pride. Ozma permitted the various parts of her country to have their Kings and Queens and Emperors and the like, but all were ruled over by the lovely girl Queen of the Emerald City.

  The King of Oogaboo used to be a man named Jol Jemkiph Soforth, who for many years did all the drudgery of deciding disputes and telling his people when to plant cabbages and pickle onions. But the King’s wife had a sharp tongue and small respect for the King, her husband; therefore one night King Jol crept over the pass into the Land of Oz and disappeared from Oogaboo for good and all. The Queen waited a few years for him to return and then started in search of him, leaving her eldest daughter, Ann Soforth, to act as Queen.

  Now, Ann had not forgotten when her birthday came, for that meant a party and feasting and dancing, but she had quite forgotten how many years the birthdays marked. In a land where people live always, this is not considered a cause for regret, so we may justly say that Queen Ann of Oogaboo was old enough to make jelly—and let it go at that.

  But she didn’t make jelly, or do any more of the housework than she could help. She was an ambitious woman and constantly resented the fact that her kingdom was so tiny and her people so stupid and unenterprising. Often she wondered what had become of her father and mother, out beyond the pass, in the wonderful Land of Oz, and the fact that they did not return to Oogaboo led Ann to suspect that they had found a better place to live. So, when Salye refused to sweep the floor of the living room in the palace, and Ann would not sweep it, either, she said to her sister:

  “I’m going away. This absurd Kingdom of Oogaboo tires me.”

  “Go, if you want to,” answered Salye; “but you are very foolish to leave this place.”

  “Why?” asked Ann.

  “Because in the Land of Oz, which is Ozma’s country, you will be a nobody, while here you are a Queen.”

  “Oh, yes! Queen over eighteen men, twenty-seven women and forty-four children!” returned Ann bitterly.

  “Well, there are certainly more people than that in the great Land of Oz,” laughed Salye. “Why don’t you raise an army and conquer them, and be Queen of all Oz?” she asked, trying to taunt Ann and so to anger her. Then she made a face at her sister and went into the back yard to swing in the hammock.

  Her jeering words, however, had given Queen Ann an idea. She reflected that Oz was reported to be a peaceful country and Ozma a mere girl who ruled with gentleness to all and was obeyed because her people loved her. Even in Oogaboo the story was told that Ozma’s sole army consisted of twenty-seven fine officers, who wore beautiful uniforms but carried no weapons, because there was no one to fight. Once there had been a private soldier, besides the officers, but Ozma had made him a
Captain-General and taken away his gun for fear it might accidentally hurt some one.

  The more Ann thought about the matter the more she was convinced it would be easy to conquer the Land of Oz and set herself up as Ruler in Ozma’s place, if she but had an Army to do it with. Afterward she could go out into the world and conquer other lands, and then perhaps she could find a way to the moon, and conquer that. She had a warlike spirit that preferred trouble to idleness.

  It all depended on an Army, Ann decided. She carefully counted in her mind all the men of her kingdom. Yes; there were exactly eighteen of them, all told. That would not make a very big Army, but by surprising Ozma’s unarmed officers her men might easily subdue them. “Gentle people are always afraid of those that bluster,” Ann told herself. “I don’t wish to shed any blood, for that would shock my nerves and I might faint; but if we threaten and flash our weapons I am sure the people of Oz will fall upon their knees before me and surrender.”

  This argument, which she repeated to herself more than once, finally determined the Queen of Oogaboo to undertake the audacious venture.

  “Whatever happens,” she reflected, “can make me no more unhappy than my staying shut up in this miserable valley and sweeping floors and quarreling with Sister Salye; so I will venture all, and win what I may.”

  That very day she started out to organize her Army.

  The first man she came to was Jo Apple, so called because he had an apple orchard.

  “Jo,” said Ann, “I am going to conquer the world, and I want you to join my Army.”

  “Don’t ask me to do such a fool thing, for I must politely refuse Your Majesty,” said Jo Apple.

  “I have no intention of asking you. I shall command you, as Queen of Oogaboo, to join,” said Ann.

  “In that case, I suppose I must obey,” the man remarked, in a sad voice. “But I pray you to consider that I am a very important citizen, and for that reason am entitled to an office of high rank.”