“Send them here at once, Jellia!” commanded Ozma.
“Also,” continued the maid, “a girl and a small-sized mule have mysteriously arrived, but they don’t seem to know where they are or how they came here. Shall I send them here, too?”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly jumping up from her chair; “I’ll go to meet Betsy myself, for she’ll feel awful strange in this big palace.”
And she ran down the stairs two at a time to greet her new friend, Betsy Bobbin.
Chapter Twenty-Five.The Land of Love
“Well, is ‘hee-haw’ all you are able to say?” inquired the Sawhorse, as he examined Hank with his knot eyes and slowly wagged the branch that served him for a tail.
They were in a beautiful stable in the rear of Ozma’s palace, where the wooden Sawhorse—very much alive—lived in a gold-paneled stall, and where there were rooms for the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, which were filled with soft cushions for them to lie upon and golden troughs for them to eat from.
Beside the stall of the Sawhorse had been placed another for Hank, the mule. This was not quite so beautiful as the other, for the Sawhorse was Ozma’s favorite steed; but Hank had a supply of cushions for a bed (which the Sawhorse did not need because he never slept) and all this luxury was so strange to the little mule that he could only stand still and regard his surroundings and his queer companions with wonder and amazement.
The Cowardly Lion, looking very dignified, was stretched out upon the marble floor of the stable, eyeing Hank with a calm and critical gaze, while near by crouched the huge Hungry Tiger, who seemed equally interested in the new animal that had just arrived. The Sawhorse, standing stiffly before Hank, repeated his question:
“Is ‘hee-haw’ all you are able to say?”
Hank moved his ears in an embarrassed manner.
“I have never said anything else, until now,” he replied; and then he began to tremble with fright to hear himself talk.
“I can well understand that,” remarked the Lion, wagging his great head with a swaying motion. “Strange things happen in this Land of Oz, as they do everywhere else. I believe you came here from the cold, civilized, outside world, did you not?”
“I did,” replied Hank. “One minute I was outside of Oz—and the next minute I was inside! That was enough to give me a nervous shock, as you may guess; but to find myself able to talk, as Betsy does, is a marvel that staggers me.”
“That is because you are in the Land of Oz,” said the Sawhorse. “All animals talk, in this favored country, and you must admit it is more sociable than to bray your dreadful ‘hee-haw,’ which nobody can understand.”
“Mules understand it very well,” declared Hank.
“Oh, indeed! Then there must be other mules in your outside world,” said the Tiger, yawning sleepily.
“There are a great many in America,” said Hank. “Are you the only Tiger in Oz?”
“No,” acknowledged the Tiger, “I have many relatives living in the Jungle Country; but I am the only Tiger living in the Emerald City.”
“There are other Lions, too,” said the Sawhorse; “but I am the only horse, of any description, in this favored Land.”
“That is why this Land is favored,” said the Tiger. “You must understand, friend Hank, that the Sawhorse puts on airs because he is shod with plates of gold, and because our beloved Ruler, Ozma of Oz, likes to ride upon his back.”
“Betsy rides upon my back,” declared Hank proudly.
“Who is Betsy?”
“The dearest, sweetest girl in all the world!”
The Sawhorse gave an angry snort and stamped his golden feet. The Tiger crouched and growled. Slowly the great Lion rose to his feet, his mane bristling.
“Friend Hank,” said he, “either you are mistaken in judgment or you are willfully trying to deceive us. The dearest, sweetest girl in the world is our Dorothy, and I will fight anyone—animal or human—who dares to deny it!”
“So will I!” snarled the Tiger, showing two rows of enormous white teeth.
“You are all wrong!” asserted the Sawhorse in a voice of scorn. “No girl living can compare with my mistress, Ozma of Oz!”
Hank slowly turned around until his heels were toward the others. Then he said stubbornly:
“I am not mistaken in my statement, nor will I admit there can be a sweeter girl alive than Betsy Bobbin. If you want to fight, come on—I’m ready for you!”
While they hesitated, eyeing Hank’s heels doubtfully, a merry peal of laughter startled the animals and turning their heads they beheld three lovely girls standing just within the richly carved entrance to the stable. In the center was Ozma, her arms encircling the waists of Dorothy and Betsy, who stood on either side of her. Ozma was nearly half a head taller than the two other girls, who were almost of one size. Unobserved, they had listened to the talk of the animals, which was a very strange experience indeed to little Betsy Bobbin.
“You foolish beasts!” exclaimed the Ruler of Oz, in a gentle but chiding voice. “Why should you fight to defend us, who are all three loving friends and in no sense rivals? Answer me!” she continued, as they bowed their heads sheepishly.
“I have the right to express my opinion, your Highness,” pleaded the Lion.
“And so have the others,” replied Ozma. “I am glad you and the Hungry Tiger love Dorothy best, for she was your first friend and companion. Also I am pleased that my Sawhorse loves me best, for together we have endured both joy and sorrow. Hank has proved his faith and loyalty by defending his own little mistress; and so you are all right in one way, but wrong in another. Our Land of Oz is a Land of Love, and here friendship outranks every other quality. Unless you can all be friends, you cannot retain our love.”
They accepted this rebuke very meekly.
“All right,” said the Sawhorse, quite cheerfully; “shake hoofs, friend Mule.”
Hank touched his hoof to that of the wooden horse.
“Let us be friends and rub noses,” said the Tiger. So Hank modestly rubbed noses with the big beast.
The Lion merely nodded and said, as he crouched before the mule:
“Any friend of a friend of our beloved Ruler is a friend of the Cowardly Lion. That seems to cover your case. If ever you need help or advice, friend Hank, call on me.”
“Why, this is as it should be,” said Ozma, highly pleased to see them so fully reconciled. Then she turned to her companions: “Come, my dears, let us resume our walk.”
As they turned away Betsy said wonderingly:
“Do all the animals in Oz talk as we do?”
“Almost all,” answered Dorothy. “There’s a Yellow Hen here, and she can talk, and so can her chickens; and there’s a Pink Kitten upstairs in my room who talks very nicely; but I’ve a little fuzzy black dog, named Toto, who has been with me in Oz a long time, and he’s never said a single word but ‘Bow-wow!’”
“Do you know why?” asked Ozma.
“Why, he’s a Kansas dog; so I s’pose he’s different from these fairy animals,” replied Dorothy.
“Hank isn’t a fairy animal, any more than Toto,” said Ozma, “yet as soon as he came under the spell of our fairyland he found he could talk. It was the same way with Billina, the Yellow Hen whom you brought here at one time. The same spell has affected Toto, I assure you; but he’s a wise little dog and while he knows everything that is said to him he prefers not to talk.”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I never s’pected Toto was fooling me all this time.” Then she drew a small silver whistle from her pocket and blew a shrill note upon it. A moment later there was a sound of scurrying footsteps, and a shaggy black dog came running up the path.
Dorothy knelt down before him and shaking her finger just above his nose she said:
“Toto, haven’t I always been good to you?�
�
Toto looked up at her with his bright black eyes and wagged his tail.
“Bow-wow!” he said, and Betsy knew at once that meant yes, as well as Dorothy and Ozma knew it, for there was no mistaking the tone of Toto’s voice.
“That’s a dog answer,” said Dorothy. “How would you like it, Toto, if I said nothing to you but ‘bow-wow’?”
Toto’s tail was wagging furiously now, but otherwise he was silent.
“Really, Dorothy,” said Betsy, “he can talk with his bark and his tail just as well as we can. Don’t you understand such dog language?”
“Of course I do,” replied Dorothy. “But Toto’s got to be more sociable. See here, sir!” she continued, addressing the dog, “I’ve just learned, for the first time, that you can say words—if you want to. Don’t you want to, Toto?”
“Woof!” said Toto, and that meant “no.”
“Not just one word, Toto, to prove you’re as any other animal in Oz?”
“Woof!”
“Just one word, Toto—and then you may run away.”
He looked at her steadily a moment.
“All right. Here I go!” he said, and darted away as swift as an arrow.
Dorothy clapped her hands in delight, while Betsy and Ozma both laughed heartily at her pleasure and the success of her experiment. Arm in arm they sauntered away through the beautiful gardens of the palace, where magnificent flowers bloomed in abundance and fountains shot their silvery sprays far into the air. And by and by, as they turned a corner, they came upon Shaggy Man and his brother, who were seated together upon a golden bench.
The two arose to bow respectfully as the Ruler of Oz approached them.
“How are you enjoying our Land of Oz?” Ozma asked the stranger.
“I am very happy here, Your Highness,” replied Shaggy’s brother. “Also I am very grateful to you for permitting me to live in this delightful place.”
“You must thank Shaggy for that,” said Ozma. “Being his brother, I have made you welcome here.”
“When you know Brother better,” said Shaggy earnestly, “you will be glad he has become one of your loyal subjects. I am just getting acquainted with him myself and I find much in his character to admire.”
Leaving the brothers, Ozma and the girls continued their walk. Presently Betsy exclaimed:
“Shaggy’s brother can’t ever be as happy in Oz as I am. Do you know, Dorothy, I didn’t believe any girl could ever have such a good time—anywhere—as I’m having now?”
“I know,” answered Dorothy. “I’ve felt that way myself, lots of times.”
“I wish,” continued Betsy, dreamily, “that every little girl in the world could live in the Land of Oz; and every little boy, too!”
Ozma laughed at this.
“It is quite fortunate for us, Betsy, that your wish cannot be granted,” said she, “for all that army of girls and boys would crowd us so that we would have to move away.”
“Yes,” agreed Betsy, after a little thought, “I guess that’s true.”
THE END
The Scarecrow of Oz L. Frank Baum
‘TWIXT YOU AND ME
The Army of Children which besieged the Postoffice, conquered the Postmen and delivered to me its imperious Commands, insisted that Trot and Cap’n Bill be admitted to the Land of Oz, where Trot could enjoy the society of Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin and Ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade of the Tin Woodman, the Shaggy Man, Tik-Tok and all the other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland.
It was no easy task to obey this order and land Trot and Cap’n Bill safely in Oz, as you will discover by reading this book. Indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the Scarecrow, to save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them happily located in Ozma’s splendid palace and Dorothy has promised me that Button-Bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future, some marvelous adventures in the Land of Oz, which I hope to be permitted to relate to you in the next Oz Book.
Meantime, I am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued enthusiasm over the Oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me, all of which are lovingly cherished. It takes more and more Oz Books every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed many “Oz Reading Societies,” where the Oz Books owned by different members are read aloud. All this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more stories. When the children have had enough of them, I hope they will let me know, and then I’ll try to write something different.
L. Frank Baum
“Royal Historian of Oz.”
“OZCOT”
at HOLLYWOOD
in CALIFORNIA, 1915.
Chapter One.The Great Whirlpool
“Seems to me,” said Cap’n Bill, as he sat beside Trot under the big acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, “seems to me, Trot, as how the more we know, the more we find we don’t know.”
“I can’t quite make that out, Cap’n Bill,” answered the little girl in a serious voice, after a moment’s thought, during which her eyes followed those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. “Seems to me that all we learn is jus’ so much gained.”
“I know; it looks that way at first sight,” said the sailor, nodding his head; “but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin’ they know all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr’ble big world this is. It’s the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain’t long enough to git more’n a few dips o’ the oars of knowledge.”
Trot didn’t answer. She was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an earnest, simple manner. Cap’n Bill had been her faithful companion for years and had taught her almost everything she knew.
He was a wonderful man, this Cap’n Bill. Not so very old, although his hair was grizzled—what there was of it. Most of his head was bald as an egg and as shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. His eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was rugged and bronzed. Cap’n Bill’s left leg was missing, from the knee down, and that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. The wooden leg he wore was good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take Trot out for a row or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to “runnin’ up aloft” or performing active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. The loss of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting himself to the education and companionship of the little girl.
The accident to Cap’n Bill’s leg bad happened at about the time Trot was born, and ever since that he had lived with Trot’s mother as “a star boarder,” having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly “keep.” He loved the baby and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on Cap’n Bill’s shoulders, for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures together. It is said the fairies had been present at Trot’s birth and had marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to see and do many wonderful things.
The acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a zigzag way to the water’s edge, where Cap’n Bill’s boat was moored to a rock by means of a stout cable. It had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air stirring, so Cap’n Bill and Trot had been quietly sitting beneath the shade of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row.
They had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. The caves were a source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to explore their awesome depths.
“I b’lieve, Cap’n,” remarked Trot,
at last, “that it’s time for us to start.”
The old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat. Then he shook his head.
“Mebbe it’s time, Trot,” he answered, “but I don’t jes’ like the looks o’ things this afternoon.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked wonderingly.
“Can’t say as to that. Things is too quiet to suit me, that’s all. No breeze, not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin’ anywhere, an’ the end o’ the hottest day o’ the year. I ain’t no weather-prophet, Trot, but any sailor would know the signs is ominous.”
“There’s nothing wrong that I can see,” said Trot.
“If there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about it; but—look, Cap’n!—the sky is as clear as can be.”
He looked again and nodded.
“P’r’aps we can make the cave, all right,” he agreed, not wishing to disappoint her. “It’s only a little way out, an’ we’ll be on the watch; so come along, Trot.”
Together they descended the winding path to the beach. It was no trouble for the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but Cap’n Bill, because of his wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself from tumbling. On a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill or down required some care.
They reached the boat safely and while Trot was untying the rope Cap’n Bill reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his “sou’wester.” This sou’wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all occasions—when he wore a coat at all—and the pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even Trot wonder where they all came from and why Cap’n Bill should treasure them. The jackknives—a big one and a little one—the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. But bits of shell, and tin boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around. That was Cap’n Bill’s business, however, and now that he added the candles and the matches to his collection Trot made no comment, for she knew these last were to light their way through the caves. The sailor always rowed the boat, for he handled the oars with strength and skill. Trot sat in the stern and steered. The place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were located, right at the water’s edge. They were nearly a mile from shore and about halfway across the bay when Trot suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: “What’s that, Cap’n?”
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 231