Author: L. Frank Baum
Date: 1903-12-31T15:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Children's Literature; Fantasy; Fairy Tales
Description: The boy Tip escapes from his evil guardian, the witch Mombi, with the help of a walking wooden figure with a jack-o’-lantern head named Jack Pumpkinhead (brought to life with the magic Powder of Life Tip stole from Mombi), as well as a living Sawhorse (created from the same powder). They soon embark on an adventure with the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman to help Scarecrow to recapture his throne from General Jinjur and her army of girls.
Publisher: MobileRead.com
Rights: Public Domain where copyright is "Life+70" or less, and in the USA.

THE  LAND  OF  OZ

Being an account of the further adventures of the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman
and also the strange experiences of the Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug, Jack Pumpkinhead, the Animated Saw-horse, and the Gump;
the story being
A Sequel to The Wizard of Oz

BY
L. FRANK BAUM
“Royal Historian of Oz”

ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN R. NEILL

VOLUME I

MobileRead Edition
2020

ABOUT THIS EBOOK

The Land of Oz

BY
L. FRANK BAUM
(1856–1919)

ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN R. NEILL
(1877–1943)

With 104 black-and-white and 15 color illustrations,
Author’s Introduction,
and a Map of Oz.

The boy Tip escapes from his evil guardian, the witch Mombi, with the help of a walking wooden figure with a jack-o’-lantern head named Jack Pumpkinhead (brought to life with the magic Powder of Life Tip stole from Mombi), as well as a living Sawhorse (created from the same powder). They soon embark on an adventure with the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman to help Scarecrow to recapture his throne from General Jinjur and her army of girls.

* * * *

Lyman Frank Baum (May 15, 1856 – May 6, 1919) was an American author chiefly famous for his children’s books, particularly The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and its sequels. He wrote 14 novels in the Oz series, plus 41 other novels, as well as many short stories, poems, and plays. He made numerous attempts to bring his works to the stage and the nascent medium of film; the 1939 adaptation of the first Oz book would become a landmark of 20th-century cinema. His works anticipated such century-later commonplaces as television, augmented reality, laptop computers (The Master Key), wireless telephones (Tik-Tok of Oz), women in high-risk and action-heavy occupations (Mary Louise in the Country), and the ubiquity of advertising on clothing (Aunt Jane’s Nieces at Work).

Even while he was alive, Baum was styled as “the Royal Historian of Oz” to emphasize the concept that Oz is an actual place. The illusion created was that characters such as Dorothy and Princess Ozma related their adventures in Oz to Baum themselves, by means of wireless telegraph.

For over a century, readers of all ages have loved these stories, and many of the Oz characters and situations have become a part of popular culture.

(—adapted from Wikipedia and publisher’s advertising)

This ebook was created by ECM for MobileRead.com, July 2020, and may be freely distributed for non-commercial purposes.

First published in 1904. The text is in the public domain worldwide. Illustrations are in the public domain in countries where copyright is “Life+70” or less, and in the USA.

Text was obtained from gutenberg.org (ebook 53844); images from archive.org (marvelouslandofo00baum).

Textual errors have been silently corrected; punctuation, diacritics, and italics formatted; some spelling and punctuation standardized to provide consistency.
Illustrations have been manually cleaned, repaired, and enhanced.

Validation by Pagina Epub Checker.

•
About this Ebook

•
List of Illustrations

•
Cover

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Back Cover

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First Edition Cover

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First Edition Back Cover

•
Libris

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Baum Copyright

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Dedication

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Introduction

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Map of the Countries of Oz

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General Jinjur

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Tip

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Scarecrow and Tin Woodman

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The Land of Oz
[ VOLUME I ]

1 — Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead
2 — The Marvelous Powder of Life
3 — The Flight of the Fugitives
4 — Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic
5 — The Awakening of the Saw-Horse
6 — Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride
7 — His Majesty, the Scarecrow
8 — General Jinjur’s Army of Revolt
9 — The Scarecrow Plans an Escape
10 — The Journey to the Tin Woodman
11 — A Nickel-Plated Emperor

•   •   •   •   •

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Cover

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Back Cover

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First Edition Cover

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First Edition Back Cover

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Map of the Countries of Oz

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General Jinjur

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Tip

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Scarecrow and Tin Woodman

•    Tip stood the figure up and admired it
[COLOR]

•    Old Mombi danced around him
•    Old Mombi puts Jack in the stable
•    “I don’t want to be a marble statue!”
•    Tip led him along the path
•    The magical Powder of Life
•    “Do keep those legs still.”
•    “Does it hurt?” asked the boy

•    The boy stretched himself upon the grass
[COLOR]

•    “It’s the fashion here,” said the Soldier
[COLOR]

•    Jack Pumpkinhead meets the Scarecrow

•    He gave Jack a sudden push

•    “Don’t you believe her, your Majesty,” cried Jack
[COLOR]

•    General Jinjur and her army capture the city

•    “We will make a dash to liberty or to death”

•    The Wooden Steed Gave One Final Leap
•    Tip rescues Jack’s pumpkin head
•    Tip stuffs the Scarecrow with dry straw

•    He caught the Scarecrow in a close and loving embrace

•    Renovating His Majesty, the Scarecrow

•   •   •   •   •

After the publication of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” I began to receive letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading the story and asking me to “write something more” about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. At first I considered these little letters, frank and earnest though they were, in the light of pretty compliments; but the letters continued to come during succeeding months, and even years.

Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me and present her request—and she is a “Dorothy,” by the way—that when a thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking for another story of the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, I would write the book. Either little Dorothy was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or the success of the stage production of “The Wizard of Oz” made new friends for the story. For the thousand letters reached their destination long since—and many more followed them.

And now, although pleading guilty to a long delay, I have kept my promise in this book.

L. FRANK BAUM.

Chicago, June, 1904.

Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead

In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz, lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was expected to say such a long word when “Tip” would do just as well.

This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation, I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin people had reason to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and therefore hesitated to associate with her.

Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of the Land of Oz had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip’s guardian, however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to be more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.

Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi’s especial pride.

But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would be bad for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for birds’ eggs or amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or fishing in the brooks with bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his armful of wood and carry it home. And when he was supposed to be working in the corn-fields, and the tall stalks hid him from Mombi’s view, Tip would often dig in the gopher holes, or—if the mood seized him—lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by taking care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged as a boy may be.

Mombi’s curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated her shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers. But Tip frankly hated her, and took no pains to hide his feelings. Indeed, he sometimes showed less respect for the old woman than he should have done, considering she was his guardian.

There were pumpkins in Mombi’s corn-fields, lying golden red among the rows of green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that the four-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after the corn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to the stable, he took a notion to make a “Jack Lantern” and try to give the old woman a fright with it.

So he selected a fine, big pumpkin—one with a lustrous, orange-red color—and began carving it. With the point of his knife he made two round eyes, a three-cornered nose, and a mouth shaped like a new moon. The face, when completed, could not have been considered strictly beautiful; but it wore a smile so big and broad, and was so jolly in expression, that even Tip laughed as he looked admiringly at his work.

The child had no playmates, so he did not know that boys often dig out the inside of a “pumpkin-jack,” and in the space thus made put a lighted candle to render the face more startling; but he conceived an idea of his own that promised to be quite as effective. He decided to manufacture the form of a man, who would wear this pumpkin head, and to stand it in a place where old Mombi would meet it face to face.

“And then,” said Tip to himself, with a laugh, “she’ll squeal louder than the brown pig does when I pull her tail, and shiver with fright worse than I did last year when I had the ague!”

He had plenty of time to accomplish this task, for Mombi had gone to a village—to buy groceries, she said—and it was a journey of at least two days.

So he took his axe to the forest, and selected some stout, straight saplings, which he cut down and trimmed of all their twigs and leaves. From these he would make the arms, and legs, and feet of his man. For the body he stripped a sheet of thick bark from around a big tree, and with much labor fashioned it into a cylinder of about the right size, pinning the edges together with wooden pegs. Then, whistling happily as he worked, he carefully jointed the limbs and fastened them to the body with pegs whittled into shape with his knife.

By the time this feat had been accomplished it began to grow dark, and Tip remembered he must milk the cow and feed the pigs. So he picked up his wooden man and carried it back to the house with him.

During the evening, by the light of the fire in the kitchen, Tip carefully rounded all the edges of the joints and smoothed the rough places in a neat and workmanlike manner. Then he stood the figure up against the wall and admired it. It seemed remarkably tall, even for a full-grown man; but that was a good point in a small boy’s eyes, and Tip did not object at all to the size of his creation.

Next morning, when he looked at his work again, Tip saw he had forgotten to give the dummy a neck, by means of which he might fasten the pumpkinhead to the body. So he went again to the forest, which was not far away, and chopped from a tree several pieces of wood with which to complete his work. When he returned he fastened a cross-piece to the upper end of the body, making a hole through the center to hold upright the neck. The bit of wood which formed this neck was also sharpened at the upper end, and when all was ready Tip put on the pumpkin head, pressing it well down onto the neck, and found that it fitted very well. The head could be turned to one side or the other, as he pleased, and the hinges of the arms and legs allowed him to place the dummy in any position he desired.

“Now, that,” declared Tip, proudly, “is really a very fine man, and it ought to frighten several screeches out of old Mombi! But it would be much more lifelike if it were properly dressed.”

To find clothing seemed no easy task; but Tip boldly ransacked the great chest in which Mombi kept all her keepsakes and treasures, and at the very bottom he discovered some purple trousers, a red shirt and a pink vest which was dotted with white spots. These he carried away to his man and succeeded, although the garments did not fit very well, in dressing the creature in a jaunty fashion. Some knit stockings belonging to Mombi and a much worn pair of his own shoes completed the man’s apparel, and Tip was so delighted that he danced up and down and laughed aloud in boyish ecstasy.

“I must give him a name!” he cried. “So good a man as this must surely have a name. I believe,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “I will name the fellow ‘Jack Pumpkinhead!’”

The Marvelous Powder of Life

After considering the matter carefully, Tip decided that the best place to locate Jack would be at the bend in the road, a little way from the house. So he started to carry his man there, but found him heavy and rather awkward to handle. After dragging the creature a short distance Tip stood him on his feet, and by first bending the joints of one leg, and then those of the other,—at the same time pushing from behind,—the boy managed to induce Jack to walk to the bend in the road. It was not accomplished without a few tumbles, and Tip really worked harder than he ever had in the fields or forest; but a love of mischief urged him on, and it pleased him to test the cleverness of his workmanship.

“Jack’s all right, and works fine!” he said to himself, panting with the unusual exertion. But just then he discovered the man’s left arm had fallen off in the journey; so he went back to find it, and afterward, by whittling a new and stouter pin for the shoulder-joint, he repaired the injury so successfully that the arm was stronger than before. Tip also noticed that Jack’s pumpkin head had twisted around until it faced his back; but this was easily remedied. When, at last, the man was set up facing the turn in the path where old Mombi was to appear, he looked natural enough to be a fair imitation of a Gillikin farmer,—and unnatural enough to startle anyone that came on him unawares.

As it was yet too early in the day to expect the old woman to return home, Tip went down into the valley below the farm-house and began to gather nuts from the trees that grew there.

However, old Mombi returned earlier than usual. She had met a crooked wizard who resided in a lonely cave in the mountains, and had traded several important secrets of magic with him. Having in this way secured three new recipes, four magical powders and a selection of herbs of wonderful power and potency, she hobbled home as fast as she could, in order to test her new sorceries.

So intent was Mombi on the treasures she had gained that when she turned the bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the man, she merely nodded and said:

“Good evening, sir.”

But, a moment after, noting that the person did not move or reply, she cast a shrewd glance into his face and discovered his pumpkin head—elaborately carved by Tip’s jack-knife.

“Heh!” ejaculated Mombi, giving a sort of grunt; “that rascally boy has been playing tricks again! Very good! ve—ry good! I’ll beat him black-and-blue for trying to scare me in this fashion!”

Angrily she raised her stick to smash in the grinning pumpkin head of the dummy; but a sudden thought made her pause, the uplifted stick left motionless in the air.

“Why, here is a good chance to try my new powder!” said she, eagerly. “And then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded secrets, or whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him.”

So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the precious powders she had obtained.

While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full of nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and apparently not the least bit frightened by it.

At first he was greatly disappointed; but the next moment he became curious to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge, where he could see without being seen, and prepared to watch.

After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepper-box, upon the faded label of which the wizard had written with a lead-pencil: “Powder of Life.”

“Ah—here it is!” she cried, joyfully. “And now let us see if it is potent. The stingy wizard didn’t give me much of it, but I guess there’s enough for two or three doses.”

Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old Mombi raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the pumpkin head of his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would pepper a baked potato, and the powder sifted down from Jack’s head and scattered over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip had dressed him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn shoes.

Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her left hand, with its little finger pointed upward, and said:

“Weaugh!”

Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and said:

“Teaugh!”

Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and cried:

“Peaugh!”

Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a reproachful voice:

“Don’t yell like that! Do you think I’m deaf?”

Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.

“He lives!” she screamed: “he lives! he lives!”

Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down; and she hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig; and all the time she repeated, rapturously:

“He lives!—he lives!—he lives!”

Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.

At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away, but his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn’t. Then it struck him as a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially as the expression on his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it excited laughter on the instant. So, recovering from his first fear, Tip began to laugh; and the merry peals reached old Mombi’s ears and made her hobble quickly to the hedge, where she seized Tip’s collar and dragged him back to where she had left her basket and the pumpkin-headed man.

“You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!” she exclaimed, furiously; “I’ll teach you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” protested Tip. “I was laughing at old Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn’t he a picture, though?”

“I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance,” said Jack; and it was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued to wear its jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.

Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had brought to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently asked:

“What do you know?”

“Well, that is hard to tell,” replied Jack. “For although I feel that I know a tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the world to find out about. It will take me a little time to discover whether I am very wise or very foolish.”

“To be sure,” said Mombi, thoughtfully.

“But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?” asked Tip, wondering.

“I must think it over,” answered Mombi. “But we must get home at once, for it is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk.”

“Never mind me,” said Jack; “I can walk as well as you can. Haven’t I got legs and feet, and aren’t they jointed?”

“Are they?” asked the woman, turning to Tip.

“Of course they are; I made ’em myself,” returned the boy, with pride.

So they started for the house; but when they reached the farm yard old Mombi led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty stall, fastening the door securely on the outside.

“I’ve got to attend to you, first,” she said, nodding her head at Tip.

Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he knew Mombi had a bad and revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any evil thing.

They entered the house. It was a round, dome-shaped structure, as are nearly all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.

Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a cupboard and hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was afraid of her.

After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in the hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her supper. When the flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked a share of the bread and cheese; but Mombi refused him.

“I’m hungry!” said Tip, in a sulky tone.

“You won’t be hungry long,” replied Mombi, with a grim look.

The boy didn’t like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he happened to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of those and ate them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her apron, and hung above the fire a small black kettle.

Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them into the kettle. Next she produced several packets of herbs and powders and began adding a portion of each to the contents of the kettle. Occasionally she would draw near the candle and read from a yellow paper the recipe of the mess she was concocting.

As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.

“What is that for?” he asked.

“For you,” returned Mombi, briefly.

Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle, which was beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and wrinkled features of the witch and wish he were any place but in that dim and smoky kitchen, where even the shadows cast by the candle upon the wall were enough to give one the horrors. So an hour passed away, during which the silence was only broken by the bubbling of the pot and the hissing of the flames.

Finally, Tip spoke again.

“Have I got to drink that stuff?” he asked, nodding toward the pot.

“Yes,” said Mombi.

“What’ll it do to me?” asked Tip.

“If it’s properly made,” replied Mombi, “it will change or transform you into a marble statue.”

Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

“I don’t want to be a marble statue!” he protested.

“That doesn’t matter; I want you to be one,” said the old woman, looking at him severely.

“What use’ll I be then?” asked Tip. “There won’t be anyone to work for you.”

“I’ll make the Pumpkinhead work for me,” said Mombi.

Again Tip groaned.

“Why don’t you change me into a goat, or a chicken?” he asked, anxiously. “You can’t do anything with a marble statue.”

“Oh, yes; I can,” returned Mombi. “I’m going to plant a flower garden, next Spring, and I’ll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I wonder I haven’t thought of that before; you’ve been a bother to me for years.”

At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all over his body; but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at the kettle.

“Perhaps it won’t work,” he muttered, in a voice that sounded weak and discouraged.

“Oh, I think it will,” answered Mombi, cheerfully. “I seldom make a mistake.”

Again there was a period of silence—a silence so long and gloomy that when Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to midnight.

“You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold,” announced the old witch—for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practicing witchcraft. “We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call you and at once complete your transformation into a marble statue.”

With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with her, and Tip heard her close and lock the door.

The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still sat glaring at the embers of the dying fire.

The Flight of the Fugitives

Tip reflected.

“It’s a hard thing, to be a marble statue,” he thought, rebelliously, “and I’m not going to stand it. For years I’ve been a bother to her, she says; so she’s going to get rid of me. Well, there’s an easier way than to become a statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in the middle of a flower garden! I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do—and I may as well go before she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the kettle.”

He waited until the snores of the old witch announced she was fast asleep, and then he arose softly and went to the cupboard to find something to eat.

“No use starting on a journey without food,” he decided, searching upon the narrow shelves.

He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi’s basket to find the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over the contents of the basket he came upon the pepper-box which contained the “Powder of Life.”

“I may as well take this with me,” he thought, “or Mombi’ll be using it to make more mischief with.” So he put the box in his pocket, together with the bread and cheese.

Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him. Outside both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed peaceful and inviting after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.

“I’ll be glad to get away,” said Tip, softly; “for I never did like that old woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her.”

He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.

“I don’t like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old Mombi,” he muttered. “And Jack belongs to me, for I made him—even if the old witch did bring him to life.”

He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the stall where the pumpkin-headed man had been left.

Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip could see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.

“Come on!” said the boy, beckoning.

“Where to?” asked Jack.

“You’ll know as soon as I do,” answered Tip, smiling sympathetically into the pumpkin face. “All we’ve got to do now is to tramp.”

“Very well,” returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and into the moonlight.

Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a sort of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn backward, instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the Pumpkinhead was quick to notice this, and began to take more pains to step carefully; so that he met with few accidents.

Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not go very fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank away and the sun peeped over the hills they had traveled so great a distance that the boy had no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch. Moreover, he had turned first into one path, and then into another, so that should anyone follow them it would prove very difficult to guess which way they had gone, or where to seek them.

Fairly satisfied that he had escaped—for a time, at least—being turned into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated himself upon a rock by the roadside.

“Let’s have some breakfast,” he said.

Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the repast.

“I don’t seem to be made the same way you are,” he said.

“I know you are not,” returned Tip; “for I made you.”

“Oh! Did you?” asked Jack.

“Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and ears and mouth,” said Tip proudly. “And dressed you.”

Jack looked at his body and limbs critically.

“It strikes me you made a very good job of it,” he remarked.

“Just so-so,” replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain defects in the construction of his man. “If I’d known we were going to travel together I might have been a little more particular.”

“Why, then,” said the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise, “you must be my creator—my parent—my father!”

“Or your inventor,” replied the boy with a laugh. “Yes, my son; I really believe I am!”

“Then I owe you obedience,” continued the man, “and you owe me—support.”

“That’s it, exactly,” declared Tip, jumping up. “So let us be off.”

“Where are we going?” asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.

“I’m not exactly sure,” said the boy; “but I believe we are headed South, and that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City.”

“What city is that?” enquired the Pumpkinhead.

“Why, it’s the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all the country. I’ve never been there, myself, but I’ve heard all about its history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz, and everything there is of a green color—just as everything in this Country of the Gillikins is of a purple color.”

“Is everything here purple?” asked Jack.

“Of course it is. Can’t you see?” returned the boy.

“I believe I must be color-blind,” said the Pumpkinhead, after staring about him.

“Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses and fences are purple,” explained Tip. “Even the mud in the roads is purple. But in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple here. And in the Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything is blue; and in the South country of the Quadlings everything is red; and in the West country of the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules, everything is yellow.”

“Oh!” said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Did you say a Tin Woodman rules the Winkies?”

“Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited him to become their ruler,—just as the people of the Emerald City invited the Scarecrow to rule them.”

“Dear me!” said Jack. “I’m getting confused with all this history. Who is the Scarecrow?”

“Another friend of Dorothy’s,” replied Tip.

“And who is Dorothy?”

“She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside World. She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was here the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels.”

“And where is she now?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.

“Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again,” said the boy.

“Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?”

“I told you. He rules the Emerald City,” answered Tip.

“I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard,” objected Jack, seeming more and more confused.

“Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I’ll explain it,” said Tip, speaking slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the eye. “Dorothy went to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her back to Kansas; and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her. But the Wizard couldn’t send her back, because he wasn’t so much of a Wizard as he might have been. And then they got angry at the Wizard, and threatened to expose him; so the Wizard made a big balloon and escaped in it, and no one has ever seen him since.”

“Now, that is very interesting history,” said Jack, well pleased; “and I understand it perfectly—all but the explanation.”

“I’m glad you do,” responded Tip. “After the Wizard was gone, the people of the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King; and I have heard that he became a very popular ruler.”

“Are we going to see this queer King?” asked Jack, with interest.

“I think we may as well,” replied the boy; “unless you have something better to do.”

“Oh, no, dear father,” said the Pumpkinhead. “I am quite willing to go wherever you please.”

Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic

The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance, seemed somewhat embarrassed at being called “father” by the tall, awkward, pumpkin-headed man; but to deny the relationship would involve another long and tedious explanation; so he changed the subject by asking, abruptly:

“Are you tired?”

“Of course not!” replied the other. “But,” he continued, after a pause, “it is quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on walking.”

Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to regret that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and substantially. Yet how could he ever have guessed that the man he had made merely to scare old Mombi with would be brought to life by means of a magical powder contained in an old pepper-box?

So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet remedy the deficiencies of Jack’s weak joints.

While thus engaged they came to the edge of a wood, and the boy sat down to rest upon an old saw-horse that some woodcutter had left there.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.

“Won’t it strain my joints?” inquired the other.

“Of course not. It’ll rest them,” declared the boy.

So Jack tried to sit down; but as soon as he bent his joints farther than usual they gave way altogether, and he came clattering to the ground with such a crash that Tip feared he was entirely ruined.

He rushed to the man, lifted him to his feet, straightened his arms and legs, and felt of his head to see if by chance it had become cracked. But Jack seemed to be in pretty good shape, after all, and Tip said to him:

“I guess you’d better remain standing, hereafter. It seems the safest way.”

“Very well, dear father; just as you say,” replied the smiling Jack, who had been in no wise confused by his tumble.

Tip sat down again. Presently the Pumpkinhead asked:

“What is that thing you are sitting on?”

“Oh, this is a horse,” replied the boy, carelessly.

“What is a horse?” demanded Jack.

“A horse? Why, there are two kinds of horses,” returned Tip, slightly puzzled how to explain. “One kind of horse is alive, and has four legs and a head and a tail. And people ride upon its back.”

“I understand,” said Jack, cheerfully. “That’s the kind of horse you are now sitting on.”

“No, it isn’t,” answered Tip, promptly.

“Why not? That one has four legs, and a head, and a tail.”

Tip looked at the saw-horse more carefully, and found that the Pumpkinhead was right. The body had been formed from a tree-trunk, and a branch had been left sticking up at one end that looked very much like a tail. In the other end were two big knots that resembled eyes, and a place had been chopped away that might easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth. As for the legs, they were four straight limbs cut from trees and stuck fast into the body, being spread wide apart so that the saw-horse would stand firmly when a log was laid across it to be sawed.

“This thing resembles a real horse more than I imagined,” said Tip, trying to explain. “But a real horse is alive, and trots and prances and eats oats, while this is nothing more than a dead horse, made of wood, and used to saw logs upon.”

“If it were alive, wouldn’t it trot, and prance, and eat oats?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.

“It would trot and prance, perhaps; but it wouldn’t eat oats,” replied the boy, laughing at the idea. “And of course it can’t ever be alive, because it is made of wood.”

“So am I,” answered the man.

Tip looked at him in surprise.

“Why, so you are!” he exclaimed. “And the magic powder that brought you to life is here in my pocket.”

He brought out the pepper box, and eyed it curiously.

“I wonder,” said he, musingly, “if it would bring the saw-horse to life.”

“If it would,” returned Jack, calmly—for nothing seemed to surprise him—“I could ride on its back, and that would save my joints from wearing out.”

“I’ll try it!” cried the boy, jumping up. “But I wonder if I can remember the words old Mombi said, and the way she held her hands up.”

He thought it over for a minute, and as he had watched carefully from the hedge every motion of the old witch, and listened to her words, he believed he could repeat exactly what she had said and done.

So he began by sprinkling some of the magic Powder of Life from the pepper-box upon the body of the saw-horse. Then he lifted his left hand, with the little finger pointing upward, and said “Weaugh!”

“What does that mean, dear father?” asked Jack, curiously.

“I don’t know,” answered Tip. Then he lifted his right hand, with the thumb pointing upward, and said: “Teaugh!”

“What’s that, dear father?” inquired Jack.

“It means you must keep quiet!” replied the boy, provoked at being interrupted at so important a moment.

“How fast I am learning!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with his eternal smile.

Tip now lifted both hands above his head, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and cried in a loud voice: “Peaugh!”

Immediately the saw-horse moved, stretched its legs, yawned with its chopped-out mouth, and shook a few grains of the powder off its back. The rest of the powder seemed to have vanished into the body of the horse.

“Good!” called Jack, while the boy looked on in astonishment. “You are a very clever sorcerer, dear father!”

The Awakening of the Saw-Horse

The Saw-Horse, finding himself alive, seemed even more astonished than Tip. He rolled his knotty eyes from side to side, taking a first wondering view of the world in which he had now so important an existence. Then he tried to look at himself; but he had, indeed, no neck to turn; so that in the endeavor to see his body he kept circling around and around, without catching even a glimpse of it. His legs were stiff and awkward, for there were no knee-joints in them; so that presently he bumped against Jack Pumpkinhead and sent that personage tumbling upon the moss that lined the roadside.

Tip became alarmed at this accident, as well as at the persistence of the Saw-Horse in prancing around in a circle; so he called out:

“Whoa! Whoa, there!”

The Saw-Horse paid no attention whatever to this command, and the next instant brought one of his wooden legs down upon Tip’s foot so forcibly that the boy danced away in pain to a safer distance, from where he again yelled:

“Whoa! Whoa, I say!”

Jack had now managed to raise himself to a sitting position, and he looked at the Saw-Horse with much interest.

“I don’t believe the animal can hear you,” he remarked.

“I shout loud enough, don’t I?” answered Tip, angrily.

“Yes; but the horse has no ears,” said the smiling Pumpkinhead.

“Sure enough!” exclaimed Tip, noting the fact for the first time. “How, then, am I going to stop him?”

But at that instant the Saw-Horse stopped himself, having concluded it was impossible to see his own body. He saw Tip, however, and came close to the boy to observe him more fully.

It was really comical to see the creature walk; for it moved the legs on its right side together, and those on its left side together, as a pacing horse does; and that made its body rock sidewise, like a cradle.

Tip patted it upon the head, and said “Good boy! Good boy!” in a coaxing tone; and the Saw-Horse pranced away to examine with its bulging eyes the form of Jack Pumpkinhead.

“I must find a halter for him,” said Tip; and having made a search in his pocket he produced a roll of strong cord. Unwinding this, he approached the Saw-Horse and tied the cord around its neck, afterward fastening the other end to a large tree. The Saw-Horse, not understanding the action, stepped backward and snapped the string easily; but it made no attempt to run away.

“He’s stronger than I thought,” said the boy, “and rather obstinate, too.”

“Why don’t you make him some ears?” asked Jack. “Then you can tell him what to do.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” said Tip. “How did you happen to think of it?”

“Why, I didn’t think of it,” answered the Pumpkinhead; “I didn’t need to, for it’s the simplest and easiest thing to do.”

So Tip got out his knife and fashioned some ears out of the bark of a small tree.

“I mustn’t make them too big,” he said, as he whittled, “or our horse would become a donkey.”

“How is that?” inquired Jack, from the roadside.

“Why, a horse has bigger ears than a man; and a donkey has bigger ears than a horse,” explained Tip.

“Then, if my ears were longer, would I be a horse?” asked Jack.

“My friend,” said Tip, gravely, “you’ll never be anything but a Pumpkinhead, no matter how big your ears are.”

“Oh,” returned Jack, nodding; “I think I understand.”

“If you do, you’re a wonder,” remarked the boy; “but there’s no harm in thinking you understand. I guess these ears are ready now. Will you hold the horse while I stick them on?”

“Certainly, if you’ll help me up,” said Jack.

So Tip raised him to his feet, and the Pumpkinhead went to the horse and held its head while the boy bored two holes in it with his knife-blade and inserted the ears.

“They make him look very handsome,” said Jack, admiringly.

But those words, spoken close to the Saw-Horse, and being the first sounds he had ever heard, so startled the animal that he made a bound forward and tumbled Tip on one side and Jack on the other. Then he continued to rush forward as if frightened by the clatter of his own footsteps.

“Whoa!” shouted Tip, picking himself up; “whoa! you idiot—whoa!”

The Saw-Horse would probably have paid no attention to this, but just then it stepped a leg into a gopher-hole and stumbled head-over-heels to the ground, where it lay upon its back, frantically waving its four legs in the air.

Tip ran up to it.

“You’re a nice sort of a horse, I must say!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you stop when I yelled ‘whoa?’”

“Does ‘whoa’ mean to stop?” asked the Saw-Horse, in a surprised voice, as it rolled its eyes upward to look at the boy.

“Of course it does,” answered Tip.

“And a hole in the ground means to stop, also, doesn’t it?” continued the horse.

“To be sure; unless you step over it,” said Tip.

“What a strange place this is,” the creature exclaimed, as if amazed. “What am I doing here, anyway?”

“Why, I’ve brought you to life,” answered the boy; “but it won’t hurt you any, if you mind me and do as I tell you.”

“Then I will do as you tell me,” replied the Saw-Horse, humbly. “But what happened to me, a moment ago? I don’t seem to be just right, someway.”

“You’re upside down,” explained Tip. “But just keep those legs still a minute and I’ll set you right side up again.”

“How many sides have I?” asked the creature, wonderingly.

“Several,” said Tip, briefly. “But do keep those legs still.”

The Saw-Horse now became quiet, and held its legs rigid; so that Tip, after several efforts, was able to roll him over and set him upright.

“Ah, I seem all right now,” said the queer animal, with a sigh.

“One of your ears is broken,” Tip announced, after a careful examination. “I’ll have to make a new one.”

Then he led the Saw-Horse back to where Jack was vainly struggling to regain his feet, and after assisting the Pumpkinhead to stand upright Tip whittled out a new ear and fastened it to the horse’s head.

“Now,” said he, addressing his steed, “pay attention to what I’m going to tell you. ‘Whoa!’ means to stop; ‘Get-Up!’ means to walk forward; ‘Trot!’ means to go as fast as you can. Understand?”

“I believe I do,” returned the horse.

“Very good. We are all going on a journey to the Emerald City, to see His Majesty, the Scarecrow; and Jack Pumpkinhead is going to ride on your back, so he won’t wear out his joints.”

“I don’t mind,” said the Saw-Horse. “Anything that suits you suits me.”

Then Tip assisted Jack to get upon the horse.

“Hold on tight,” he cautioned, “or you may fall off and crack your pumpkin head.”

“That would be horrible!” said Jack, with a shudder. “What shall I hold on to?”

“Why, hold on to his ears,” replied Tip, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Don’t do that!” remonstrated the Saw-Horse; “for then I can’t hear.”

That seemed reasonable, so Tip tried to think of something else.

“I’ll fix it!” said he, at length. He went into the wood and cut a short length of limb from a young, stout tree. One end of this he sharpened to a point, and then he dug a hole in the back of the Saw-Horse, just behind its head. Next he brought a piece of rock from the road and hammered the post firmly into the animal’s back.

“Stop! Stop!” shouted the horse; “you’re jarring me terribly.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the boy.

“Not exactly hurt,” answered the animal; “but it makes me quite nervous to be jarred.”

“Well, it’s all over now,” said Tip, encouragingly. “Now, Jack, be sure to hold fast to this post, and then you can’t fall off and get smashed.”

So Jack held on tight, and Tip said to the horse:

“Get-up.”

The obedient creature at once walked forward, rocking from side to side as he raised his feet from the ground.

Tip walked beside the Saw-Horse, quite content with this addition to their party. Presently he began to whistle.

“What does that sound mean?” asked the horse.

“Don’t pay any attention to it,” said Tip. “I’m just whistling, and that only means I’m pretty well satisfied.”

“I’d whistle myself, if I could push my lips together,” remarked Jack. “I fear, dear father, that in some respects I am sadly lacking.”

After journeying on for some distance the narrow path they were following turned into a broad road-way, paved with yellow brick. By the side of the road Tip noticed a sign-post that read:

“NINE MILES TO THE EMERALD CITY.”

But it was now growing dark, so he decided to camp for the night by the roadside and to resume the journey next morning by daybreak. He led the Saw-Horse to a grassy mound upon which grew several bushy trees, and carefully assisted the Pumpkinhead to alight.

“I think I’ll lay you upon the ground, overnight,” said the boy. “You will be safer that way.”

“How about me?” asked the Saw-Horse.

“It won’t hurt you to stand,” replied Tip; “and, as you can’t sleep, you may as well watch out and see that no one comes near to disturb us.”

Then the boy stretched himself upon the grass beside the Pumpkinhead, and being greatly wearied by the journey was soon fast asleep.

Jack Pumpkinhead’s Ride

At daybreak Tip was awakened by the Pumpkinhead. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bathed in a little brook, and then ate a portion of his bread and cheese. Having thus prepared for a new day the boy said:

“Let us start at once. Nine miles is quite a distance, but we ought to reach the Emerald City by noon if no accidents happen.”

So the Pumpkinhead was again perched upon the back of the Saw-Horse and the journey was resumed.

Tip noticed that the purple tint of the grass and trees had now faded to a dull lavender, and before long this lavender appeared to take on a greenish tinge that gradually brightened as they drew nearer to the great City where the Scarecrow ruled.

The little party had traveled but a short two miles upon their way when the road of yellow brick was parted by a broad and swift river. Tip was puzzled how to cross over; but after a time he discovered a man in a ferry-boat approaching from the other side of the stream.

When the man reached the bank Tip asked:

“Will you row us to the other side?”

“Yes, if you have money,” returned the ferryman, whose face looked cross and disagreeable.

“But I have no money,” said Tip.

“None at all?” inquired the man.

“None at all,” answered the boy.

“Then I’ll not break my back rowing you over,” said the ferryman, decidedly.

“What a nice man!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, smilingly.

The ferryman stared at him, but made no reply. Tip was trying to think, for it was a great disappointment to him to find his journey so suddenly brought to an end.

“I must certainly get to the Emerald City,” he said to the boatman; “but how can I cross the river if you do not take me?”

The man laughed, and it was not a nice laugh.

“That wooden horse will float,” said he; “and you can ride him across. As for the pumpkin-headed loon who accompanies you, let him sink or swim—it won’t matter greatly which.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jack, smiling pleasantly upon the crabbed ferryman; “I’m sure I ought to float beautifully.”

Tip thought the experiment was worth making, and the Saw-Horse, who did not know what danger meant, offered no objections whatever. So the boy led it down into the water and climbed upon its back. Jack also waded in up to his knees and grasped the tail of the horse so that he might keep his pumpkin head above the water.

“Now,” said Tip, instructing the Saw-Horse, “if you wiggle your legs you will probably swim; and if you swim we shall probably reach the other side.”

The Saw-Horse at once began to wiggle its legs, which acted as oars and moved the adventurers slowly across the river to the opposite side. So successful was the trip that presently they were climbing, wet and dripping, up the grassy bank.

Tip’s trouser-legs and shoes were thoroughly soaked; but the Saw-Horse had floated so perfectly that from his knees up the boy was entirely dry. As for the Pumpkinhead, every stitch of his gorgeous clothing dripped water.

“The sun will soon dry us,” said Tip; “and, anyhow, we are now safely across, in spite of the ferryman, and can continue our journey.”

“I didn’t mind swimming, at all,” remarked the horse.

“Nor did I,” added Jack.

They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a continuation of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip once more mounted the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Saw-Horse.

“If you ride fast,” said he, “the wind will help to dry your clothing. I will hold on to the horse’s tail and run after you. In this way we all will become dry in a very short time.”

“Then the horse must step lively,” said Jack.

“I’ll do my best,” returned the Saw-Horse, cheerfully.

Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the Saw-Horse, and called loudly: “Get-up!”

The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he decided they could go faster, so he shouted: “Trot!”

Now, the Saw-Horse remembered that this word was the command to go as fast as he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous pace, and Tip had hard work—running faster than he ever had before in his life—to keep his feet.

Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call “Whoa!” to the horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then the end of the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead branch, suddenly broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in the dust of the road, while the horse and its pumpkin-headed rider dashed on and quickly disappeared in the distance.

By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his throat so he could say “Whoa!” there was no further need of saying it, for the horse was long since out of sight.

So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a good rest, and afterward began walking along the road.

“Sometime I will surely overtake them,” he reflected; “for the road will end at the gates of the Emerald City, and they can go no further than that.”

Meantime Jack was holding fast to the post and the Saw-Horse was tearing along the road like a racer. Neither of them knew Tip was left behind, for the Pumpkinhead did not look around and the Saw-Horse couldn’t.

As he rode, Jack noticed that the grass and trees had become a bright emerald-green in color, so he guessed they were nearing the Emerald City even before the tall spires and domes came into sight.

At length a high wall of green stone, studded thick with emeralds, loomed up before them; and fearing the Saw-Horse would not know enough to stop and so might smash them both against this wall, Jack ventured to cry “Whoa!” as loud as he could.

So suddenly did the horse obey that had it not been for his post Jack would have been pitched off head foremost, and his beautiful face ruined.

“That was a fast ride, dear father!” he exclaimed; and then, hearing no reply, he turned around and discovered for the first time that Tip was not there.

This apparent desertion puzzled the Pumpkinhead, and made him uneasy. And while he was wondering what had become of the boy, and what he ought to do next under such trying circumstances, the gateway in the green wall opened and a man came out.

This man was short and round, with a fat face that seemed remarkably good-natured. He was clothed all in green and wore a high, peaked green hat upon his head and green spectacles over his eyes. Bowing before the Pumpkinhead he said:

“I am the Guardian of the Gates of the Emerald City. May I inquire who you are, and what is your business?”

“My name is Jack Pumpkinhead,” returned the other, smilingly; “but as to my business, I haven’t the least idea in the world what it is.”

The Guardian of the Gates looked surprised, and shook his head as if dissatisfied with the reply.

“What are you, a man or a pumpkin?” he asked, politely.

“Both, if you please,” answered Jack.

“And this wooden horse—is it alive?” questioned the Guardian.

The horse rolled one knotty eye upward and winked at Jack. Then it gave a prance and brought one leg down on the Guardian’s toes.

“Ouch!” cried the man; “I’m sorry I asked that question. But the answer is most convincing. Have you any errand, sir, in the Emerald City?”

“It seems to me that I have,” replied the Pumpkinhead, seriously; “but I cannot think what it is. My father knows all about it, but he is not here.”

“This is a strange affair—very strange!” declared the Guardian. “But you seem harmless. Folks do not smile so delightfully when they mean mischief.”

“As for that,” said Jack, “I cannot help my smile, for it is carved on my face with a jack-knife.”

“Well, come with me into my room,” resumed the Guardian, “and I will see what can be done for you.”

So Jack rode the Saw-Horse through the gate-way into a little room built into the wall. The Guardian pulled a bell-cord, and presently a very tall soldier—clothed in a green uniform—entered from the opposite door. This soldier carried a long green gun over his shoulder and had lovely green whiskers that fell quite to his knees. The Guardian at once addressed him, saying:

“Here is a strange gentleman who doesn’t know why he has come to the Emerald City, or what he wants. Tell me, what shall we do with him?”

The Soldier with the Green Whiskers looked at Jack with much care and curiosity. Finally he shook his head so positively that little waves rippled down his whiskers, and then he said:

“I must take him to His Majesty, the Scarecrow.”

“But what will His Majesty, the Scarecrow, do with him?” asked the Guardian of the Gates.

“That is His Majesty’s business,” returned the soldier. “I have troubles enough of my own. All outside troubles must be turned over to His Majesty. So put the spectacles on this fellow, and I’ll take him to the royal palace.”

So the Guardian opened a big box of spectacles and tried to fit a pair to Jack’s great round eyes.

“I haven’t a pair in stock that will really cover those eyes up,” said the little man, with a sigh; “and your head is so big that I shall be obliged to tie the spectacles on.”

“But why need I wear spectacles?” asked Jack.

“It’s the fashion here,” said the Soldier, “and they will keep you from being blinded by the glitter and glare of the gorgeous Emerald City.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “Tie them on, by all means. I don’t wish to be blinded.”

“Nor I!” broke in the Saw-Horse; so a pair of green spectacles was quickly fastened over the bulging knots that served it for eyes.

Then the Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them through the inner gate and they at once found themselves in the main street of the magnificent Emerald City.

Sparkling green gems ornamented the fronts of the beautiful houses and the towers and turrets were all faced with emeralds. Even the green marble pavement glittered with precious stones, and it was indeed a grand and marvelous sight to one who beheld it for the first time.

However, the Pumpkinhead and the Saw-Horse, knowing nothing of wealth and beauty, paid little attention to the wonderful sights they saw through their green spectacles. They calmly followed after the green soldier and scarcely noticed the crowds of green people who stared at them in surprise. When a green dog ran out and barked at them the Saw-Horse promptly kicked at it with its wooden leg and sent the little animal howling into one of the houses; but nothing more serious than this happened to interrupt their progress to the royal palace.

The Pumpkinhead wanted to ride up the green marble steps and straight into the Scarecrow’s presence; but the soldier would not permit that. So Jack dismounted, with much difficulty, and a servant led the Saw-Horse around to the rear while the Soldier with the Green Whiskers escorted the Pumpkinhead into the palace, by the front entrance.

The stranger was left in a handsomely furnished waiting room while the soldier went to announce him. It so happened that at this hour His Majesty was at leisure and greatly bored for want of something to do, so he ordered his visitor to be shown at once into his throne room.

Jack felt no fear or embarrassment at meeting the ruler of this magnificent city, for he was entirely ignorant of all worldly customs. But when he entered the room and saw for the first time His Majesty the Scarecrow seated upon his glittering throne, he stopped short in amazement.

His Majesty, the Scarecrow

I suppose every reader of this book knows what a scarecrow is; but Jack Pumpkinhead, never having seen such a creation, was more surprised at meeting the remarkable King of the Emerald City than by any other one experience of his brief life.

His Majesty the Scarecrow was dressed in a suit of faded blue clothes, and his head was merely a small sack stuffed with straw, upon which eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth had been rudely painted to represent a face. The clothes were also stuffed with straw, and that so unevenly or carelessly that his Majesty’s legs and arms seemed more bumpy than was necessary. Upon his hands were gloves with long fingers, and these were padded with cotton. Wisps of straw stuck out from the monarch’s coat and also from his collar and boot-tops. Upon his head he wore a heavy golden crown set thick with sparkling jewels, and the weight of this crown caused his brow to sag in wrinkles, giving a thoughtful expression to the painted face. Indeed, the crown alone betokened majesty; in all else the Scarecrow King was but a simple scarecrow—flimsy, awkward, and unsubstantial.

But if the strange appearance of his Majesty the Scarecrow seemed startling to Jack, no less wonderful was the form of the Pumpkinhead to the Scarecrow. The purple trousers and pink waistcoat and red shirt hung loosely over the wooden joints Tip had manufactured, and the carved face on the pumpkin grinned perpetually, as if its wearer considered life the jolliest thing imaginable.

At first, indeed, His Majesty thought his queer visitor was laughing at him, and was inclined to resent such a liberty; but it was not without reason that the Scarecrow had attained the reputation of being the wisest personage in the Land of Oz. He made a more careful examination of his visitor, and soon discovered that Jack’s features were carved into a smile and that he could not look grave if he wished to.

The King was the first to speak. After regarding Jack for some minutes he said, in a tone of wonder:

“Where on earth did you come from, and how do you happen to be alive?”

“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” returned the Pumpkinhead; “but I do not understand you.”

“What don’t you understand?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Why, I don’t understand your language. You see, I came from the Country of the Gillikins, so that I am a foreigner.”

“Ah, to be sure!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “I myself speak the language of the Munchkins, which is also the language of the Emerald City. But you, I suppose, speak the language of the Pumpkinheads?”

“Exactly so, your Majesty,” replied the other, bowing; “so it will be impossible for us to understand one another.”

“That is unfortunate, certainly,” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “We must have an interpreter.”

“What is an interpreter?” asked Jack.

“A person who understands both my language and your own. When I say anything, the interpreter can tell you what I mean; and when you say anything the interpreter can tell me what you mean. For the interpreter can speak both languages as well as understand them.”

“That is certainly clever,” said Jack, greatly pleased at finding so simple a way out of the difficulty.

So the Scarecrow commanded the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to search among his people until he found one who understood the language of the Gillikins as well as the language of the Emerald City, and to bring that person to him at once.

When the Soldier had departed the Scarecrow said:

“Won’t you take a chair while we are waiting?”

“Your Majesty forgets that I cannot understand you,” replied the Pumpkinhead. “If you wish me to sit down you must make a sign for me to do so.”

The Scarecrow came down from his throne and rolled an armchair to a position behind the Pumpkinhead. Then he gave Jack a sudden push that sent him sprawling upon the cushions in so awkward a fashion that he doubled up like a jack-knife, and had hard work to untangle himself.

“Did you understand that sign?” asked His Majesty, politely.

“Perfectly,” declared Jack, reaching up his arms to turn his head to the front, the pumpkin having twisted around upon the stick that supported it.

“You seem hastily made,” remarked the Scarecrow, watching Jack’s efforts to straighten himself.

“Not more so than your Majesty,” was the frank reply.

“There is this difference between us,” said the Scarecrow, “that whereas I will bend, but not break, you will break, but not bend.”

At this moment the soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand. She seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful green eyes and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees, showing silk stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin slippers with bunches of lettuce for decorations instead of bows or buckles. Upon her silken waist clover leaves were embroidered, and she wore a jaunty little jacket trimmed with sparkling emeralds of a uniform size.

“Why, it’s little Jellia Jamb!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as the green maiden bowed her pretty head before him. “Do you understand the language of the Gillikins, my dear?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she answered, “for I was born in the North Country.”

“Then you shall be our interpreter,” said the Scarecrow, “and explain to this Pumpkinhead all that I say, and also explain to me all that he says. Is this arrangement satisfactory?” he asked, turning toward his guest.

“Very satisfactory indeed,” was the reply.

“Then ask him, to begin with,” resumed the Scarecrow, turning to Jellia, “what brought him to the Emerald City.”

But instead of this the girl, who had been staring at Jack, said to him:

“You are certainly a wonderful creature. Who made you?”

“A boy named Tip,” answered Jack.

“What does he say?” inquired the Scarecrow. “My ears must have deceived me. What did he say?”

“He says that your Majesty’s brains seem to have come loose,” replied the girl, demurely.

The Scarecrow moved uneasily upon his throne, and felt of his head with his left hand.

“What a fine thing it is to understand two different languages,” he said, with a perplexed sigh. “Ask him, my dear, if he has any objection to being put in jail for insulting the ruler of the Emerald City.

“I didn’t insult you!” protested Jack, indignantly.

“Tut—tut!” cautioned the Scarecrow; “wait until Jellia translates my speech. What have we got an interpreter for, if you break out in this rash way?”

“All right, I’ll wait,” replied the Pumpkinhead, in a surly tone—although his face smiled as genially as ever. “Translate the speech, young woman.”

“His Majesty inquires if you are hungry,” said Jellia.

“Oh, not at all!” answered Jack, more pleasantly. “for it is impossible for me to eat.”

“It’s the same way with me,” remarked the Scarecrow. “What did he say, Jellia, my dear?”

“He asked if you were aware that one of your eyes is painted larger than the other,” said the girl, mischievously.

“Don’t you believe her, your Majesty,” cried Jack.

“Oh, I don’t,” answered the Scarecrow, calmly. Then, casting a sharp look at the girl, he asked:

“Are you quite certain you understand the languages of both the Gillikins and the Munchkins?”

“Quite certain, your Majesty,” said Jellia Jamb, trying hard not to laugh in the face of royalty.

“Then how is it that I seem to understand them myself?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“Because they are one and the same!” declared the girl, now laughing merrily. “Does not your Majesty know that in all the land of Oz but one language is spoken?”

“Is it indeed so?” cried the Scarecrow, much relieved to hear this; “then I might easily have been my own interpreter!”

“It was all my fault, your Majesty,” said Jack, looking rather foolish, “I thought we must surely speak different languages, since we came from different countries.”

“This should be a warning to you never to think,” returned the Scarecrow, severely. “For unless one can think wisely it is better to remain a dummy—which you most certainly are.”

“I am!—I surely am!” agreed the Pumpkinhead.

“It seems to me,” continued the Scarecrow, more mildly, “that your manufacturer spoiled some good pies to create an indifferent man.”

“I assure your Majesty that I did not ask to be created,” answered Jack.

“Ah! It was the same in my case,” said the King, pleasantly. “And so, as we differ from all ordinary people, let us become friends.”

“With all my heart!” exclaimed Jack.

“What! Have you a heart?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised.

“No; that was only imaginative—I might say, a figure of speech,” said the other.

“Well, your most prominent figure seems to be a figure of wood; so I must beg you to restrain an imagination which, having no brains, you have no right to exercise,” suggested the Scarecrow, warningly.

“To be sure!” said Jack, without in the least comprehending.

His Majesty then dismissed Jellia Jamb and the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and when they were gone he took his new friend by the arm and led him into the courtyard to play a game of quoits.

General Jinjur’s Army of Revolt

Tip was so anxious to rejoin his man Jack and the Saw-Horse that he walked a full half the distance to the Emerald City without stopping to rest. Then he discovered that he was hungry and the crackers and cheese he had provided for the journey had all been eaten.

While wondering what he should do in this emergency he came upon a girl sitting by the roadside. She wore a costume that struck the boy as being remarkably brilliant: her silken waist being of emerald green and her skirt of four distinct colors—blue in front, yellow at the left side, red at the back and purple at the right side. Fastening the waist in front were four buttons—the top one blue, the next yellow, a third red and the last purple.

The splendor of this dress was almost barbaric; so Tip was fully justified in staring at the gown for some moments before his eyes were attracted by the pretty face above it. Yes, the face was pretty enough, he decided; but it wore an expression of discontent coupled to a shade of defiance or audacity.

While the boy stared the girl looked upon him calmly. A lunch basket stood beside her, and she held a dainty sandwich in one hand and a hard-boiled egg in the other, eating with an evident appetite that aroused Tip’s sympathy.

He was just about to ask a share of the luncheon when the girl stood up and brushed the crumbs from her lap.

“There!” said she; “it is time for me to go. Carry that basket for me and help yourself to its contents if you are hungry.”

Tip seized the basket eagerly and began to eat, following for a time the strange girl without bothering to ask questions. She walked along before him with swift strides, and there was about her an air of decision and importance that led him to suspect she was some great personage.

Finally, when he had satisfied his hunger, he ran up beside her and tried to keep pace with her swift footsteps—a very difficult feat, for she was much taller than he, and evidently in a hurry.

“Thank you very much for the sandwiches,” said Tip, as he trotted along. “May I ask your name?”

“I am General Jinjur,” was the brief reply.

“Oh!” said the boy, surprised. “What sort of a General?”

“I command the Army of Revolt in this war,” answered the General, with unnecessary sharpness.

“Oh!” he again exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was a war.”

“You were not supposed to know it,” she returned, “for we have kept it a secret; and considering that our army is composed entirely of girls,” she added, with some pride, “it is surely a remarkable thing that our Revolt is not yet discovered.”

“It is, indeed,” acknowledged Tip. “But where is your army?”

“About a mile from here,” said General Jinjur. “The forces have assembled from all parts of the Land of Oz, at my express command. For this is the day we are to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow, and wrest from him the throne. The Army of Revolt only awaits my coming to march upon the Emerald City.”

“Well!” declared Tip, drawing a long breath, “this is certainly a surprising thing! May I ask why you wish to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow?”

“Because the Emerald City has been ruled by men long enough, for one reason,” said the girl. “Moreover, the City glitters with beautiful gems, which might far better be used for rings, bracelets and necklaces; and there is enough money in the King’s treasury to buy every girl in our Army a dozen new gowns. So we intend to conquer the City and run the government to suit ourselves.”

Jinjur spoke these words with an eagerness and decision that proved she was in earnest.

“But war is a terrible thing,” said Tip, thoughtfully.

“This war will be pleasant,” replied the girl, cheerfully.

“Many of you will be slain!” continued the boy, in an awed voice.

“Oh, no,” said Jinjur. “What man would oppose a girl, or dare to harm her? And there is not an ugly face in my entire Army.”

Tip laughed.

“Perhaps you are right,” said he. “But the Guardian of the Gate is considered a faithful Guardian, and the King’s Army will not let the City be conquered without a struggle.”

“The Army is old and feeble,” replied General Jinjur, scornfully. “His strength has all been used to grow whiskers, and his wife has such a temper that she has already pulled more than half of them out by the roots. When the Wonderful Wizard reigned the Soldier with the Green Whiskers was a very good Royal Army, for people feared the Wizard. But no one is afraid of the Scarecrow, so his Royal Army don’t count for much in time of war.”

After this conversation they proceeded some distance in silence, and before long reached a large clearing in the forest where fully four hundred young women were assembled. These were laughing and talking together as gaily as if they had gathered for a picnic instead of a war of conquest.

They were divided into four companies, and Tip noticed that all were dressed in costumes similar to that worn by General Jinjur. The only real difference was that while those girls from the Munchkin country had the blue strip in front of their skirts, those from the country of the Quadlings had the red strip in front; and those from the country of the Winkies had the yellow strip in front, and the Gillikin girls wore the purple strip in front. All had green waists, representing the Emerald City they intended to conquer, and the top button on each waist indicated by its color which country the wearer came from. The uniforms were jaunty and becoming, and quite effective when massed together.

Tip thought this strange Army bore no weapons whatever; but in this he was wrong. For each girl had stuck through the knot of her back hair two long, glittering knitting-needles.

General Jinjur immediately mounted the stump of a tree and addressed her army.

“Friends, fellow-citizens, and girls!” she said; “we are about to begin our great Revolt against the men of Oz! We march to conquer the Emerald City—to dethrone the Scarecrow King—to acquire thousands of gorgeous gems—to rifle the royal treasury—and to obtain power over our former oppressors!”

“Hurrah!” said those who had listened; but Tip thought most of the Army was too much engaged in chattering to pay attention to the words of the General.

The command to march was now given, and the girls formed themselves into four bands, or companies, and set off with eager strides toward the Emerald City.

The boy followed after them, carrying several baskets and wraps and packages which various members of the Army of Revolt had placed in his care. It was not long before they came to the green granite walls of the City and halted before the gateway.

The Guardian of the Gate at once came out and looked at them curiously, as if a circus had come to town. He carried a bunch of keys swung round his neck by a golden chain; his hands were thrust carelessly into his pockets, and he seemed to have no idea at all that the City was threatened by rebels. Speaking pleasantly to the girls, he said:

“Good morning, my dears! What can I do for you?”

“Surrender instantly!” answered General Jinjur, standing before him and frowning as terribly as her pretty face would allow her to.

“Surrender!” echoed the man, astounded. “Why, it’s impossible. It’s against the law! I never heard of such a thing in my life.”

“Still, you must surrender!” exclaimed the General, fiercely. “We are revolting!”

“You don’t look it,” said the Guardian, gazing from one to another, admiringly.

“But we are!” cried Jinjur, stamping her foot, impatiently; “and we mean to conquer the Emerald City!”

“Good gracious!” returned the surprised Guardian of the Gates; “what a nonsensical idea! Go home to your mothers, my good girls, and milk the cows and bake the bread. Don’t you know it’s a dangerous thing to conquer a city?”

“We are not afraid!” responded the General; and she looked so determined that it made the Guardian uneasy.

So he rang the bell for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and the next minute was sorry he had done so. For immediately he was surrounded by a crowd of girls who drew the knitting-needles from their hair and began jabbing them at the Guardian with the sharp points dangerously near his fat cheeks and blinking eyes.

The poor man howled loudly for mercy and made no resistance when Jinjur drew the bunch of keys from around his neck.

Followed by her Army the General now rushed to the gateway, where she was confronted by the Royal Army of Oz—which was the other name for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.

“Halt!” he cried, and pointed his long gun full in the face of the leader.

Some of the girls screamed and ran back, but General Jinjur bravely stood her ground and said, reproachfully:

“Why, how now? Would you shoot a poor, defenseless girl?”

“No,” replied the soldier; “for my gun isn’t loaded.”

“Not loaded?”

“No; for fear of accidents. And I’ve forgotten where I hid the powder and shot to load it with. But if you’ll wait a short time I’ll try to hunt them up.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Jinjur, cheerfully. Then she turned to her Army and cried:

“Girls, the gun isn’t loaded!”

“Hooray,” shrieked the rebels, delighted at this good news, and they proceeded to rush upon the Soldier with the Green Whiskers in such a crowd that it was a wonder they didn’t stick the knitting-needles into one another.

But the Royal Army of Oz was too much afraid of women to meet the onslaught. He simply turned about and ran with all his might through the gate and toward the royal palace, while General Jinjur and her mob flocked into the unprotected City.

In this way was the Emerald City captured without a drop of blood being spilled. The Army of Revolt had become an Army of Conquerors!

The Scarecrow Plans an Escape

Tip slipped away from the girls and followed swiftly after the Soldier with the Green Whiskers. The invading army entered the City more slowly, for they stopped to dig emeralds out of the walls and paving-stones with the points of their knitting-needles. So the Soldier and the boy reached the palace before the news had spread that the City was conquered.

The Scarecrow and Jack Pumpkinhead were still playing at quoits in the courtyard when the game was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of the Royal Army of Oz, who came flying in without his hat or gun, his clothes in sad disarray and his long beard floating a yard behind him as he ran.

“Tally one for me,” said the Scarecrow, calmly. “What’s wrong, my man?” he added, addressing the Soldier.

“Oh! your Majesty—your Majesty! The City is conquered!” gasped the Royal Army, who was all out of breath.

“This is quite sudden,” said the Scarecrow. “But please go and bar all the doors and windows of the palace, while I show this Pumpkinhead how to throw a quoit.”

The Soldier hastened to do this, while Tip, who had arrived at his heels, remained in the courtyard to look at the Scarecrow with wondering eyes.

His Majesty continued to throw the quoits as coolly as if no danger threatened his throne, but the Pumpkinhead, having caught sight of Tip, ambled toward the boy as fast as his wooden legs would go.

“Good afternoon, noble parent!” he cried, delightedly. “I’m glad to see you are here. That terrible Saw-Horse ran away with me.”

“I suspected it,” said Tip. “Did you get hurt? Are you cracked at all?”

“No, I arrived safely,” answered Jack, “and his Majesty has been very kind indeed to me.”

At this moment the Soldier with the Green Whiskers returned, and the Scarecrow asked:

“By the way, who has conquered me?”

“A regiment of girls, gathered from the four corners of the Land of Oz,” replied the Soldier, still pale with fear.

“But where was my Standing Army at the time?” inquired his Majesty, looking at the Soldier, gravely.

“Your Standing Army was running,” answered the fellow, honestly; “for no man could face the terrible weapons of the invaders.”

“Well,” said the Scarecrow, after a moment’s thought, “I don’t mind much the loss of my throne, for it’s a tiresome job to rule over the Emerald City. And this crown is so heavy that it makes my head ache. But I hope the Conquerors have no intention of injuring me, just because I happen to be the King.”

“I heard them say,” remarked Tip, with some hesitation, “that they intend to make a rag carpet of your outside and stuff their sofa-cushions with your inside.”

“Then I am really in danger,” declared his Majesty, positively, “and it will be wise for me to consider a means to escape.”

“Where can you go?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.

“Why, to my friend the Tin Woodman, who rules over the Winkies, and calls himself their Emperor,” was the answer. “I am sure he will protect me.”

Tip was looking out of the window.

“The palace is surrounded by the enemy,” said he. “It is too late to escape. They would soon tear you to pieces.”

The Scarecrow sighed.

“In an emergency,” he announced, “it is always a good thing to pause and reflect. Please excuse me while I pause and reflect.”

“But we also are in danger,” said the Pumpkinhead, anxiously. “If any of these girls understand cooking, my end is not far off!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow; “they’re too busy to cook, even if they know how!”

“But should I remain here a prisoner for any length of time,” protested Jack, “I’m liable to spoil.”

“Ah! then you would not be fit to associate with,” returned the Scarecrow. “The matter is more serious than I suspected.”

“You,” said the Pumpkinhead, gloomily, “are liable to live for many years. My life is necessarily short. So I must take advantage of the few days that remain to me.”

“There, there! Don’t worry,” answered the Scarecrow, soothingly; “if you’ll keep quiet long enough for me to think, I’ll try to find some way for us all to escape.”

So the others waited in patient silence while the Scarecrow walked to a corner and stood with his face to the wall for a good five minutes. At the end of that time he faced them with a more cheerful expression upon his painted face.

“Where is the Saw-Horse you rode here?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.

“Why, I said he was a jewel, and so your man locked him up in the royal treasury,” said Jack.

“It was the only place I could think of, your Majesty,” added the Soldier, fearing he had made a blunder.

“It pleases me very much,” said the Scarecrow. “Has the animal been fed?”

“Oh, yes; I gave him a heaping peck of sawdust.”

“Excellent!” cried the Scarecrow. “Bring the horse here at once.”

The Soldier hastened away, and presently they heard the clattering of the horse’s wooden legs upon the pavement as he was led into the courtyard.

His Majesty regarded the steed critically.

“He doesn’t seem especially graceful,” he remarked, musingly; “but I suppose he can run?”

“He can, indeed,” said Tip, gazing upon the Saw-Horse admiringly.

“Then, bearing us upon his back, he must make a dash through the ranks of the rebels and carry us to my friend the Tin Woodman,” announced the Scarecrow.

“He can’t carry four!” objected Tip.

“No, but he may be induced to carry three,” said his Majesty. “I shall therefore leave my Royal Army behind. For, from the ease with which he was conquered, I have little confidence in his powers.”

“Still, he can run,” declared Tip, laughing.

“I expected this blow,” said the Soldier, sulkily; “but I can bear it. I shall disguise myself by cutting off my lovely green whiskers. And, after all, it is no more dangerous to face those reckless girls than to ride this fiery, untamed wooden horse!”

“Perhaps you are right,” observed his Majesty. “But, for my part, not being a soldier, I am fond of danger. Now, my boy, you must mount first. And please sit as close to the horse’s neck as possible.”

Tip climbed quickly to his place, and the Soldier and the Scarecrow managed to hoist the Pumpkinhead to a seat just behind him. There remained so little space for the King that he was liable to fall off as soon as the horse started.

“Fetch a clothesline,” said the King to his Army, “and tie us all together. Then if one falls off we will all fall off.”

And while the Soldier was gone for the clothesline his Majesty continued, “it is well for me to be careful, for my very existence is in danger.”

“I have to be as careful as you do,” said Jack.

“Not exactly,” replied the Scarecrow; “for if anything happened to me, that would be the end of me. But if anything happened to you, they could use you for seed.”

The Soldier now returned with a long line and tied all three firmly together, also lashing them to the body of the Saw-Horse; so there seemed little danger of their tumbling off.

“Now throw open the gates,” commanded the Scarecrow, “and we will make a dash to liberty or to death.”

The courtyard in which they were standing was located in the center of the great palace, which surrounded it on all sides. But in one place a passage led to an outer gateway, which the Soldier had barred by order of his sovereign. It was through this gateway his Majesty proposed to escape, and the Royal Army now led the Saw-Horse along the passage and unbarred the gate, which swung backward with a loud crash.

“Now,” said Tip to the horse, “you must save us all. Run as fast as you can for the gate of the City, and don’t let anything stop you.”

“All right!” answered the Saw-Horse, gruffly, and dashed away so suddenly that Tip had to gasp for breath and hold firmly to the post he had driven into the creature’s neck.

Several of the girls, who stood outside guarding the palace, were knocked over by the Saw-Horse’s mad rush. Others ran screaming out of the way, and only one or two jabbed their knitting-needles frantically at the escaping prisoners. Tip got one small prick in his left arm, which smarted for an hour afterward; but the needles had no effect upon the Scarecrow or Jack Pumpkinhead, who never even suspected they were being prodded.

As for the Saw-Horse, he made a wonderful record, upsetting a fruit cart, overturning several meek looking men, and finally bowling over the new Guardian of the Gate—a fussy little fat woman appointed by General Jinjur.

Nor did the impetuous charger stop then. Once outside the walls of the Emerald City he dashed along the road to the West with fast and violent leaps that shook the breath out of the boy and filled the Scarecrow with wonder.

Jack had ridden at this mad rate once before, so he devoted every effort to holding, with both hands, his pumpkin head upon its stick, enduring meantime the dreadful jolting with the courage of a philosopher.

“Slow him up! Slow him up!” shouted the Scarecrow. “My straw is all shaking down into my legs.”

But Tip had no breath to speak, so the Saw-Horse continued his wild career unchecked and with unabated speed.

Presently they came to the banks of a wide river, and without a pause the wooden steed gave one final leap and launched them all in mid-air.

A second later they were rolling, splashing and bobbing about in the water, the horse struggling frantically to find a rest for its feet and its riders being first plunged beneath the rapid current and then floating upon the surface like corks.

The Journey to the Tin Woodman

Tip was well soaked and dripping water from every angle of his body; but he managed to lean forward and shout in the ear of the Saw-Horse:

“Keep still, you fool! Keep still!”

The horse at once ceased struggling and floated calmly upon the surface, its wooden body being as buoyant as a raft.

“What does that word ‘fool’ mean?” enquired the horse.

“It is a term of reproach,” answered Tip, somewhat ashamed of the expression. “I only use it when I am angry.”

“Then it pleases me to be able to call you a fool, in return,” said the horse. “For I did not make the river, nor put it in our way; so only a term of reproach is fit for one who becomes angry with me for falling into the water.”

“That is quite evident,” replied Tip; “so I will acknowledge myself in the wrong.” Then he called out to the Pumpkinhead: “are you all right, Jack?”

There was no reply. So the boy called to the King: “are you all right, your majesty?”

The Scarecrow groaned.

“I’m all wrong, somehow,” he said, in a weak voice. “How very wet this water is!”

Tip was bound so tightly by the cord that he could not turn his head to look at his companions; so he said to the Saw-Horse:

“Paddle with your legs toward the shore.”

The horse obeyed, and although their progress was slow, they finally reached the opposite river bank at a place where it was low enough to enable the creature to scramble upon dry land.

With some difficulty the boy managed to get his knife out of his pocket and cut the cords that bound the riders to one another and to the wooden horse. He heard the Scarecrow fall to the ground with a mushy sound, and then he himself quickly dismounted and looked at his friend Jack.

The wooden body, with its gorgeous clothing, still sat upright upon the horse’s back; but the pumpkin head was gone, and only the sharpened stick that served for a neck was visible. As for the Scarecrow, the straw in his body had shaken down with the jolting and packed itself into his legs and the lower part of his body—which appeared very plump and round while his upper half seemed like an empty sack. Upon his head the Scarecrow still wore the heavy crown, which had been sewed on to prevent his losing it; but the head was now so damp and limp that the weight of the gold and jewels sagged forward and crushed the painted face into a mass of wrinkles that made him look exactly like a Japanese pug dog.

Tip would have laughed—had he not been so anxious about his man Jack. But the Scarecrow, however damaged, was all there, while the pumpkin head that was so necessary to Jack’s existence was missing; so the boy seized a long pole that fortunately lay near at hand and anxiously turned again toward the river.

Far out upon the waters he sighted the golden hue of the pumpkin, which gently bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves. At that moment it was quite out of Tip’s reach, but after a time it floated nearer and still nearer until the boy was able to reach it with his pole and draw it to the shore. Then he brought it to the top of the bank, carefully wiped the water from its pumpkin face with his handkerchief, and ran with it to Jack and replaced the head upon the man’s neck.

“Dear me!” were Jack’s first words. “What a dreadful experience! I wonder if water is liable to spoil pumpkins?”

Tip did not think a reply was necessary, for he knew that the Scarecrow also stood in need of his help. So he carefully removed the straw from the King’s body and legs, and spread it out in the sun to dry. The wet clothing he hung over the body of the Saw-Horse.

“If water spoils pumpkins,” observed Jack, with a deep sigh, “then my days are numbered.”

“I’ve never noticed that water spoils pumpkins,” returned Tip; “unless the water happens to be boiling. If your head isn’t cracked, my friend, you must be in fairly good condition.”

“Oh, my head isn’t cracked in the least,” declared Jack, more cheerfully.

“Then don’t worry,” retorted the boy. “Care once killed a cat.”

“Then,” said Jack, seriously, “I am very glad indeed that I am not a cat.”

The sun was fast drying their clothing, and Tip stirred up his Majesty’s straw so that the warm rays might absorb the moisture and make it as crisp and dry as ever. When this had been accomplished he stuffed the Scarecrow into symmetrical shape and smoothed out his face so that he wore his usual gay and charming expression.

“Thank you very much,” said the monarch, brightly, as he walked about and found himself to be well balanced. “There are several distinct advantages in being a Scarecrow. For if one has friends near at hand to repair damages, nothing very serious can happen to you.”

“I wonder if hot sunshine is liable to crack pumpkins,” said Jack, with an anxious ring in his voice.

“Not at all—not at all!” replied the Scarecrow, gaily. “All you need fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall quickly part company—but you needn’t look forward to it; we’ll discover the fact ourselves, and notify you. But come! Let us resume our journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin Woodman.”

So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the Pumpkinhead clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around the wooden form of Jack.

“Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit,” said Tip to his steed.

“All right!” responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.

“Aren’t you a little hoarse?” asked the Pumpkinhead, politely.

The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward toward Tip.

“See here,” he growled, “can’t you protect me from insult?”

“To be sure!” answered Tip, soothingly. “I am sure Jack meant no harm. And it will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good friends.”

“I’ll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead,” declared the Saw-Horse, viciously; “he loses his head too easily to suit me.”

There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode along in silence.

After a while the Scarecrow remarked:

“This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I once saved Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?” asked Jack, glancing around fearfully.

“They are all dead, so it doesn’t matter,” replied the Scarecrow. “And here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch’s Grey Wolves.”

“Who was Nick Chopper?” asked Tip.

“That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman,” answered his Majesty. “And here is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew away with little Dorothy,” he continued, after they had traveled a little way farther.

“Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?” asked Jack, with a shiver of fear.

“I do not know; but you have little cause to worry, for the Winged Monkeys are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap that commands their services,” said the Scarecrow, reflectively.

Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought, recalling the days of past adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the flower-strewn fields and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.

•     •     •     •     •

Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night. So Tip stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.

“I’m tired out,” said the boy, yawning wearily; “and the grass is soft and cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning.”

“I can’t sleep,” said Jack.

“I never do,” said the Scarecrow.

“I do not even know what sleep is,” said the Saw-Horse.

“Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of flesh and blood and bone, and gets tired,” suggested the Scarecrow, in his usual thoughtful manner. “I remember it was the same way with little Dorothy. We always had to sit through the night while she slept.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tip, meekly, “but I can’t help it. And I’m dreadfully hungry, too!”

“Here is a new danger!” remarked Jack, gloomily. “I hope you are not fond of eating pumpkins.”

“Not unless they’re stewed and made into pies,” answered the boy, laughing. “So have no fears of me, friend Jack.”

“What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!” said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.

“You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!” retorted Jack, angrily.

“There!—there!” interrupted the Scarecrow; “don’t let us quarrel. We all have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be considerate of one another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has nothing whatever to eat, let us all remain quiet and allow him to sleep; for it is said that in sleep a mortal may forget even hunger.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Tip, gratefully. “Your Majesty is fully as good as you are wise—and that is saying a good deal!”

He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of the Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.

A Nickel-Plated Emperor

Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and plucked, with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from some bushes near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample breakfast, and afterward the little party resumed its journey.

After an hour’s ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they espied the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the Emperor’s palace rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.

The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:

“How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I hope that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled mine!”

“Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?” asked the horse.

“Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over them soon after the Wicked Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the world I am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor.”

“I thought that ‘Emperor’ was the title of a person who rules an empire,” said Tip, “and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom.”

“Don’t mention that to the Tin Woodman!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, earnestly. “You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as he has every reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor rather than King.”

“I’m sure it makes no difference to me,” replied the boy.

The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had hard work to stick upon its back; so there was little further conversation until they drew up beside the palace steps.

An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to assist them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to this personage:

“Show us at once to your master, the Emperor.”

The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way, and finally answered:

“I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving this morning.”

“How is that?” enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“Oh, no; nothing serious,” returned the man. “But this is his Majesty’s day for being polished, and just now his august presence is thickly smeared with putz-pomade.”

“Oh, I see!” cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. “My friend was ever inclined to be a dandy, and I suppose he is now more proud than ever of his personal appearance.”

“He is, indeed,” said the man, with a polite bow. “Our mighty Emperor has lately caused himself to be nickel-plated.”

“Good Gracious!” the Scarecrow exclaimed at hearing this. “If his wit bears the same polish, how sparkling it must be! But show us in—I’m sure the Emperor will receive us, even in his present state.”

“The Emperor’s state is always magnificent,” said the man. “But I will venture to tell him of your arrival, and will receive his commands concerning you.”

So the party followed the servant into a splendid ante-room, and the Saw-Horse ambled awkwardly after them, having no knowledge that a horse might be expected to remain outside.

The travelers were at first somewhat awed by their surroundings, and even the Scarecrow seemed impressed as he examined the rich hangings of silver cloth caught up into knots and fastened with tiny silver axes. Upon a handsome center-table stood a large silver oil-can, richly engraved with scenes from the past adventures of the Tin Woodman, Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow: the lines of the engraving being traced upon the silver in yellow gold. On the walls hung several portraits, that of the Scarecrow seeming to be the most prominent and carefully executed, while a large painting of the famous Wizard of Oz, in the act of presenting the Tin Woodman with a heart, covered almost one entire end of the room.

While the visitors gazed at these things in silent admiration they suddenly heard a loud voice in the next room exclaim:

“Well! well! well! What a great surprise!”

And then the door burst open and Nick Chopper rushed into their midst and caught the Scarecrow in a close and loving embrace that creased him into many folds and wrinkles.

“My dear old friend! My noble comrade!” cried the Tin Woodman, joyfully; “how delighted I am to meet you once again!”

And then he released the Scarecrow and held him at arms’ length while he surveyed the beloved, painted features.

But, alas! the face of the Scarecrow and many portions of his body bore great blotches of putz-pomade; for the Tin Woodman, in his eagerness to welcome his friend, had quite forgotten the condition of his toilet and had rubbed the thick coating of paste from his own body to that of his comrade.

“Dear me!” said the Scarecrow, dolefully. “What a mess I’m in!”

“Never mind, my friend,” returned the Tin Woodman, “I’ll send you to my Imperial Laundry, and you’ll come out as good as new.”

“Won’t I be mangled?” asked the Scarecrow.

“No, indeed!” was the reply. “But tell me, how came your Majesty here? and who are your companions?”

The Scarecrow, with great politeness, introduced Tip and Jack Pumpkinhead, and the latter personage seemed to interest the Tin Woodman greatly.

“You are not very substantial, I must admit,” said the Emperor; “but you are certainly unusual, and therefore worthy to become a member of our select society.”

“I thank your Majesty,” said Jack, humbly.

“I hope you are enjoying good health?” continued the Woodman.

“At present, yes;” replied the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh; “but I am in constant terror of the day when I shall spoil.”

“Nonsense!” said the Emperor—but in a kindly, sympathetic tone. “Do not, I beg of you, dampen today’s sun with the showers of tomorrow. For before your head has time to spoil you can have it canned, and in that way it may be preserved indefinitely.”

Tip, during this conversation, was looking at the Woodman with undisguised amazement, and noticed that the celebrated Emperor of the Winkies was composed entirely of pieces of tin, neatly soldered and riveted together into the form of a man. He rattled and clanked a little, as he moved, but in the main he seemed to be most cleverly constructed, and his appearance was only marred by the thick coating of polishing-paste that covered him from head to foot.

The boy’s intent gaze caused the Tin Woodman to remember that he was not in the most presentable condition, so he begged his friends to excuse him while he retired to his private apartment and allowed his servants to polish him. This was accomplished in a short time, and when the Emperor returned his nickel-plated body shone so magnificently that the Scarecrow heartily congratulated him on his improved appearance.

“That nickel-plate was, I confess, a happy thought,” said Nick; “and it was the more necessary because I had become somewhat scratched during my adventurous experiences. You will observe this engraved star upon my left breast. It not only indicates where my excellent heart lies, but covers very neatly the patch made by the Wonderful Wizard when he placed that valued organ in my breast with his own skillful hands.”

“Is your heart, then, a hand-organ?” asked the Pumpkinhead, curiously.

“By no means,” responded the Emperor, with dignity. “It is, I am convinced, a strictly orthodox heart, although somewhat larger and warmer than most people possess.”

Then he turned to the Scarecrow and asked:

“Are your subjects happy and contented, my dear friend?”

“I cannot say,” was the reply; “for the girls of Oz have risen in revolt and driven me out of the Emerald City.”

“Great Goodness!” cried the Tin Woodman. “What a calamity! They surely do not complain of your wise and gracious rule?”

“No; but they say it is a poor rule that don’t work both ways,” answered the Scarecrow; “and these females are also of the opinion that men have ruled the land long enough. So they have captured my city, robbed the treasury of all its jewels, and are running things to suit themselves.”

“Dear me! What an extraordinary idea!” cried the Emperor, who was both shocked and surprised.

“And I heard some of them say,” said Tip, “that they intend to march here and capture the castle and city of the Tin Woodman.”

“Ah! we must not give them time to do that,” said the Emperor, quickly; “we will go at once and recapture the Emerald City and place the Scarecrow again upon his throne.”

“I was sure you would help me,” remarked the Scarecrow in a pleased voice. “How large an army can you assemble?”

“We do not need an army,” replied the Woodman. “We four, with the aid of my gleaming axe, are enough to strike terror into the hearts of the rebels.”

“We five,” corrected the Pumpkinhead.

“Five?” repeated the Tin Woodman.

“Yes; the Saw-Horse is brave and fearless,” answered Jack, forgetting his recent quarrel with the quadruped.

The Tin Woodman looked around him in a puzzled way, for the Saw-Horse had until now remained quietly standing in a corner, where the Emperor had not noticed him. Tip immediately called the odd-looking creature to them, and it approached so awkwardly that it nearly upset the beautiful center-table and the engraved oil-can.

“I begin to think,” remarked the Tin Woodman as he looked earnestly at the Saw-Horse, “that wonders will never cease! How came this creature alive?”

“I did it with a magic powder,” modestly asserted the boy; “and the Saw-Horse has been very useful to us.”

“He enabled us to escape the rebels,” added the Scarecrow.

“Then we must surely accept him as a comrade,” declared the Emperor. “A live Saw-Horse is a distinct novelty, and should prove an interesting study. Does he know anything?”

“Well, I cannot claim any great experience in life,” the Saw-Horse answered for himself; “but I seem to learn very quickly, and often it occurs to me that I know more than any of those around me.”

“Perhaps you do,” said the Emperor; “for experience does not always mean wisdom. But time is precious just now, so let us quickly make preparations to start upon our journey.”

The Emperor called his Lord High Chancellor and instructed him how to run the kingdom during his absence.

Meanwhile the Scarecrow was taken apart and the painted sack that served him for a head was carefully laundered and re-stuffed with the brains originally given him by the great Wizard. His clothes were also cleaned and pressed by the Imperial tailors, and his crown polished and again sewed upon his head, for the Tin Woodman insisted he should not renounce this badge of royalty. The Scarecrow now presented a very respectable appearance, and although in no way addicted to vanity he was quite pleased with himself and strutted a trifle as he walked. While this was being done Tip mended the wooden limbs of Jack Pumpkinhead and made them stronger than before, and the Saw-Horse was also inspected to see if he was in good working order.

Then bright and early the next morning they set out upon the return journey to the Emerald City, the Tin Woodman bearing upon his shoulder a gleaming axe and leading the way, while the Pumpkinhead rode upon the Saw-Horse and Tip and the Scarecrow walked upon either side to make sure that he didn’t fall off or become damaged.

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CONTINUED IN VOLUME II

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