L. Frank Baum - Oz 18

by Grampa In Oz

  “Oh, well,” laughed Tatters, rolling from under the drenching spray, “it saves us the trouble of washing our faces. But what made them do it Grampa?”

  Grampa gave himself an angry shake and marched stiffly over to the flagstone path. Carved neatly on the last stone were these words: Gorba’s Stepping Stones, Guaranteed for seven centuries. Stand on the right foot to go East, on the left to go West. Stand on both feet to go South. To go North stand on your head.

  “Well, North’s the way we want to go cried Tatters eagerly as Grampa finished reading. “Maybe they’ll carry us all the way to Emerald City.”

  “Not me!” snorted the old soldier, taking a pinch of snuff. “Stand on your head if you like, but I’m going to travel right side up or not at all. Do you want to break your neck?” he demanded indignantly.

  “It would be a little rough,” admitted Tatters, remembering the way the stones had bumped, “but it’s pretty good magic just the same. Grampa grunted contemptuously and tightened the fastenings of his game leg, but even the old soldier could not stay cross long in this enchanting garden, and when a moment later they happened upon a cluster of peach trees he grew quite cheerful again.

  “Always did like peaches for breakfast,” he sighed, impaling one on his sword.

  Twirling the sword and taking little bites all round, he looked with half closed eyes down the long vistas of lantern lanes. “I wish Mrs. Sew-and-Sew could see this,” sighed the old soldier pensively. Tatters nodded, but he was impatient to see more of the wizard’s garden, so filling his pocket with peaches, he ran down the narrowest of the lanes after Bill, who had already flown ahead to have another look for the fortune.

  Opening out from this lane was a smaller and enclosed garden filled with the strangest bushes Tatters ever had seen. Each one grew in the shape of an animal. There were bears, tigers, lions, elephants and deer and the eyes, noses and mouths were marked by blossoms of the proper size and shape, that grew cunningly just where they were needed. They looked so life-like that for a moment the Prince was frightened, but after he had prodded a lion bush with his umbrella and it neither roared nor lashed its green tail he proceeded from one to the other quite as if he were in a museum. And certainly Gorba’s animals were queer enough to grace any museum.

  “Wonder how he makes ‘em grow this way?” murmured Tatters, finishing his last peach.

  “Might as well wonder how he happens to be a wizard,” chuckled Grampa, who had come up quietly behind him. “Why, this is better than a zoo, it’s a whole blooming menagerie, and if we knew the secret of it we could travel all over Oz growing deer and rabbit bushes in the castle gardens and your fortune would be made in no time. But as we don’t know the secret of it,” concluded Grampa, squinting at his old silver watch, “we’d better forward march and see if we can find a way out of here.” With many backward glances, Tatters followed him down another of the lantern lanes, but they had scarcely gone half way when the hoarse voice of the weather cock came screeching overhead.

  “The Princess! The Princess! I have found the Princess!” crowed Bill, falling with an iron clang in the path before them.

  “Be quiet,” warned the old soldier anxiously, “do you want the wizard to get you?

  Now then, what’s all this nonsense about a Princess?” Grampa winked at Tatters and Tatters winked back, for neither of them had much faith in Bill’s discoveries. But the weather cock was too excited to mind. Hopping stiffly ahead and pausing every few seconds to urge them forward with a wave of his wing, he led them to the very center of the enchanted garden. There, on a bed of softest moss, surrounded by a rose blown hedge, lay the loveliest little maiden you could ever imagine!

  “The Princess,” repeated Bill huskily. “The Princess!”

  “You’re wrong,” breathed the old soldier, pushing back his cap and tiptoeing forward, “you’re wrong. It’s the Queen of the May!” And it surely seemed that Grampa had guessed correctly, for Bill’s Princess was a little Lady of Flowers. Her face, hands and neck were of the tiniest white blossoms, her eyes, deep blue violets, her mouth a rose bud and her nose and brows delicately marked with pink stems. Her hair, blowing backward and forward in the fragrant breeze, was the finest spray of flowering fern, and her dress was most enchanting of all. The waist was of every soft, silken flower you could think of, buttoned all the way down the front with pansies, while her skirts-a thick cluster of blossoming vines-fluttered gayly about her tiny lady slippers.

  “Why!” exclaimed the Prince of Ragbad, “she’s growing in the flower bed. Oh, Grampa, if she were only alive!”

  “I wish she were myself,” sighed the old soldier. “This wizard must know a deal of magic to grow a little fairy like that. Mind what you’re about there,” he called sharply to Bill. The weather cock had flown over the hedge and was hopping so close to the flower girl it made Grampa nervous.

  “But look!” crowed Bill, “Looky look!” Under the hedge and padlocked to a small iron ring in the ground was a gold watering can. It did not take Grampa and Tatters long to leap over the hedge after that, for as the old soldier said himself, the wizard was doubtless away and it was their plain duty to see that this little flower maid had a freshening spray before they left the garden. First Tatters tried to wrench the can loose.

  The golden chain on the padlock was so slender it should have broken on the first tug, but it held like iron. Then Grampa tried his hand, but with no better luck, next both Grampa and Tatters tugged together, Bill doing his bit by jerking out the Prince’s coat tails.

  “More magic!” panted Grampa, sucking his thumb. “The only way to get it loose is to find the key.”

  “The key,” shrilled Tatters, suddenly diving into his pocket. “Why, I wonder if this is the key?” Jubilantly he produced the tiny gold key Bill had taken from the bandit and the next instant he had fitted it in the padlock.

  “Vaga must have stolen that from the wizard when he took the medicine,” mused Grampa, “and that wizard’s mighty particular with his old gold can.” He sniffed scornfully as Tatters slid it from its chain. “Here, I’ll fill it at the fountain.”

  “But it’s already full,” answered the Prince of Ragbad, giving it a little shake.

  Running over to the mossy bed, he tilted the gold can forward and sprayed the little flower lady from top to toe. Stars! No sooner had the last drop fallen than a perfectly amazing thing happened-so amazing that Grampa and Tatters clutched each other to keep from tumbling over backwards and Bill flew screaming into the nearest tree. For the little flower maiden slowly and gracefully rose from her bed, poised a moment on tiptoe and then, with a merry little laugh, bounded over to Grampa and Tatters and seized their hands. Next thing they were whirling round and round in the jolliest fashion imaginable, faster and faster and faster, till everything grew blurred and all three tumbled down in a heap.

  “Oh, forget-me-nots-isn’t that fun!” trilled the little flower girl, jumping lightly to her feet. “Oh, I’ve wanted to do that always!”

  “Who-who are you?” gasped Tatters, for Grampa, between loss of breath and astonishment, was perfectly speechless.

  “Why, just my own self,” smiled the little creature, flinging back her feathery hair. “How do you blow? How do you blow?” shrieked Bill, falling in a heap beside her.

  “He means how do you do,” puffed Grampa, laughing in spite of himself. “You’ll have to excuse him for he’s a weather cock and used to talking to Augusta.” Then as the little maiden still seemed puzzled, Grampa finished his sentence. “Augusta Wind,” chuckled the old soldier, with a wink that made them all laugh, except Bill, who continued to regard the flower girl intently.

  “Are you a Princess?” asked Bill, with his head anxiously on one side.

  “No,” mused the little girl slowly, “I don’t think I’m a Princess, let-me-see. Oh, I remember now the old wizard telling the birds my name was Urtha, because I’m made of earth!”

  “Go along with you then,” snapped Bill crossly
. “We’re looking for a Princess.” “Don’t mind him,” begged Tatters jumping up hastily.

  “Tell us about yourself, Miss Posy,” cried Grampa, straightening his cap and feeling his game leg slyly. In the dance it had turned completely around. “I declare you’re the loveliest little lady I’ve met in all my travels.”

  The roses in Urtha’s cheeks seemed to grow pinker at Grampa’s words. “There isn’t much to tell,” she began softly. “I don’t seem to remember anything but this garden. I guess I just grew, she finished with a little bounce that sent her skirts flying out in every direction.

  “And whatever was in that gold watering can brought you to life. I believe you’re a fairy,” said the old soldier solemnly.

  “No! No!” laughed the little flower girl, seizing a long trailing vine. “I’m just Urtha.” And using the vine as a skipping rope she flashed up and down the silver paths so swiftly that it made Tatters and Grampa blink just to follow her dancing steps.

  “What are you going to do now that you are alive?” asked Tatters as she paused for a moment beside him.

  “Just going to be happy in this garden,” replied Urtha with a little shake of her lovely fern hair.

  “I wish we could stay too,” sighed Tatters, for he could think of no end of games he could teach Urtha, and even the Emerald City, he reflected, could not be lovelier than this enchanted garden. Grampa gave a start at Tatters’ words and, suddenly recalled to his duty, gathered up his gun and knapsack.

  “It’s been a pleasure to know you, my dear,” said Grampa gallantly, taking off his cap, “but we’ll have to be marching on now, for we’ve a long journey before us.

  “Oh!” Urtha gave a little cry of dismay. “Didn’t you grow in the garden too?”

  Grampa shook his head and as quickly as he could told her how King Fumbo had lost his head and how he and Tatters had set out to seek it and the Prince’s fortune. Urtha was almost as much puzzled over a fortune as Bill. Indeed, the whole of Grampa’s story was confusing-for you see it was the first story the little flower maiden had ever heard. But Prince Tatters and the old soldier interested her tremendously. She touched Grampa’s medals shyly and could not admire Tatters’ patched and many colored suit enough. As for Bill, she blew him so many kisses that the embarrassed weather cock flew and hid himself in an oleander bush. Saying good-bye to dear little Urtha was a difficult business, but at last Grampa, with a very determined expression, shouldered his gun and Tatters reluctantly picked up his red umbrella.

  “Come on!” shouted Bill, impatiently sticking his head out of the bush. “Come on, or we’ll never find the head, the fortune and the Princess.” As Urtha had not turned out a Princess he had lost all interest in her.

  “But I’ll miss you,” sighed Urtha, and drooped so sadly against a tree that Tatters promptly fell out of line and began to comfort her.

  “You won’t miss us,” said Grampa, looking uneasily at his watch, “you can’t miss people you’ve just met, you know.” The old soldier was faced with a problem the like of which he had never before encountered, and he was plainly at a loss to know what to do.

  “I’ve known you longer than anyone else. I’ve known you my whole life,” sighed Urtha wistfully.

  “But you’ve only been alive five minutes,” smiled the old soldier indulgently. “Why don’t you join the army like I did?” inquired Bill, who was anxious to be off.

  “Oh, couldn’t she?” begged Tatters eagerly. Grampa shifted his feet and looked uncertainly at the little flower maiden. She seemed too frail and delicate to set out on ajourney of adventure. “But,” reflected the old soldier, “if she’s a fairy nothing can harm her and if she’s not, someone ought to look out for her. As we brought her to life we’re responsible.”

  “Come along with you,” cried Grampa recklessly. So away through the wizard’s garden marched this strange little army, the patched flag of Ragbad fluttering from the top of Tatters’ red umbrella and the little flower maiden falling out of line every few minutes to dance gaily round a tree or skip merrily through a fountain.

  She fairly seemed to float above the flowers that blossomed along the way, as her dainty feet slipped from daisy to daisy. Prince Tatters could hardly keep his eyes away from Urtha as she danced along the way. And Grampa smiled happily at the delight of the two happy young people.

  CHAPTER 7: The Winding Stairway

  IT was twilight in the wizard’s garden. All the lanterns burned low and the birds twittered drowsily in the tree tops. Grampa and Tatters sat wearily upon a golden bench-for after a whole day’s march they were no nearer the Emerald City than before. Indeed, there seemed no way out of the enchanted garden.

  They had lunched satisfactorily on the fruit of a bread and butter bush, and Grampa’s knapsack was full of nicely spread slices, but for all that each one of them felt tired and downhearted. Urtha, on the contrary, was as fresh and merry as in the morning and, seated under a willow tree, was weaving a daisy chain for Bill.

  “She is certainly a fairy,” mused Grampa and absently pulling a blossom from a nearby bush he popped it into his mouth. “We’ll take her back to Ragbad, my boy, and won’t she liven up the old castle! I tell you, now-Suddenly Grampa stopped speaking and clapped his hand to his belt. His eyes grew rounder and rounder and Tatters, turning to see why he did not finish his sentence, gave a little scream of fright.

  “Help!” called the Prince of Ragbad in an agonized voice. “Help! Help!” Urtha was beside him in an instant, while Bill circled wildly overhead.

  “He’s growing,” breathed the little flower maid softly.

  “Yes,” groaned Tatters distractedly, “he’s growing a chimney!” And Tatters was quite right. Not only was the old soldier growing a chimney, but a bay window as well. The chimney had knocked off his cap and grown brick by brick as the horrified Prince looked on. The bay window, of fancy wood-work and glass, jutted out at least three feet beyond Grampa’s waist line.

  (The old soldier had always been proud of his slim figure.)

  “Give me my pipe,” panted Grampa in a choked voice. He had no idea what was happening, but felt too terribly dreadful for words. Tatters sank on one knee, snatched the pipe from its place in his game leg and lit it with trembling fingers. Then it was that he caught sight of the sign on the bush beside Grampa. “House plants,” said the sign distinctly.

  “Oh!” wailed the Prince, suddenly remembering that Grampa had eaten one of the blossoms, “you’ve eaten a house plant and there’s a chimney sticking out of your head.”

  “There is!” roared Grampa, puffing away at his pipe in great agitation. “Well, that’s what comes of this pesky magic. A chimnee! Well, I’ll try to bear it like a soldier,” he finished grimly. A perfect cloud of smoke rose from the chimney at these valiant words. Too overcome for speech, Tatters covered his face.

  “Don’t you care!” cried Urtha, flinging her arms ‘round Grampa’s neck. “It’s a sweet little chimney, and so becoming!”

  “The wind is blowing North,” crowed Bill, disconsolately following the direction of the smoke as it curled up Grampa’s chimney. “If I see this wizard I’ll fall on his head.

  I’ll give him a peck in the eye, five pecks, but say!” Bill paused in his circling and swooped down upon the old soldier. “How about the medicine?” Grampa and Tatters had forgotten all about the wizard’s green bottle, but at Bill’s words the old soldier drew it quickly from his pocket.

  “I don’t believe there’s any cure for chimneys,” puffed Grampa, running his finger anxiously down the list. He was so nervous that his hands shook. To tell the truth he expected to grow a flight of steps or a veranda any minute.

  “Here, let me look,” begged Tatters, snatching the bottle from Grampa. But though there was everything on the green label from ear ache to lumbago, no mention was made of chimneys or bay windows at all.

  “But it says ‘cure for everything,’ ” insisted Bill, perching stubbornly on Grampa’s shoulder.

&nb
sp; “This is worse than a battle!” moaned Grampa, rolling up his eyes. “I’m poisoned, that’s what I am.”

  “Poisoned!” cried Bill triumphantly. “Then find the cure for poison.” Hurriedly Tatters consulted the label. “For poison of any nature, two drops on the head,” directed the bottle. So while Urtha and Bill watched nervously, Tatters uncorked the bottle and let two drops of the magic liquid fall down Grampa’s chimney. There was a slight sizzle. Tatters rubbed his eyes and Bill gave a crow of delight. The chimney had melted and the bay window was gone and the gallant old soldier quite himself again. Urtha was so happy that she danced all the way round the golden bench and Grampa jumped up and ran to look at himself in a little pond.

  “No worse for it,” mused the old soldier, stroking the top of his head tenderly and patting his belt with great satisfaction, “but that’s the last bite I’ll take in this garden.” As Grampa turned to go, a particularly bright little flower bed caught his attention. The flowers grew right before his eyes, dropped off their Stems and were immediately succeeded by other ones. Even in the dim lantern light the old soldier could see that they were spelling out messages.

  “Gorba will return to the garden at twelve o’clock.” This announcement bloomed gaily in red tulips, and while the old soldier was still staring at it in astonishment, the tulips faded away and another sentence formed in the bed: Who stays all night shall leave here never, He’ll be a lantern tree forever! In yellow daffodils, the sentence danced before Grampa’s eyes. “A life sentence!” panted the old soldier wildly, and without waiting for more he plunged across the garden.