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 II

MobileRead Edition
2020

•
List of Illustrations

•
The Land of Oz:
[ VOLUME II ]

12 — Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.
13 — A Highly Magnified History
14 — Old Mombi Indulges in Witchcraft
15 — The Prisoners of the Queen
16 — The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think
17 — The Astonishing Flight of the Gump
18 — In the Jackdaws’ Nest
19 — Dr. Nikidik’s Famous Wishing Pills
20 — The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda
21 — The Tin Woodman Plucks a Rose
22 — The Transformation of Old Mombi
23 — Princess Ozma of Oz
24 — The Riches of Content

•   •   •   •   •

•    The faces looked upon the astonished band with mocking smiles
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•    The Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin

•    The stranger removed his hat with a flourish
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•    “The students stood up on their stools”

•    The mice hid themselves in the Scarecrow’s straw

•    “It’s too easy, altogether.”

•    Seated within the throne was General Jinjur
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•    A tiny gray mouse scampered away between the feet of the Army of Revolt

•    This cast a gloom over the entire party
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•    All brought something to the roof

•    The Gump soared swiftly and majestically away
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•    All were immediately dumped out

•    The Woggle-Bug turned up a beautiful diamond necklace

•    His axe fairly flashed among the jackdaws
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•    “We must have reached the South Country, for below us everything is red!”

•    Glinda searches the records
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•    The Tin Woodman plucks the rose
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•    The Griffin sprang through the wall of the tent
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•    Mombi pointed her long, bony finger at the boy

•    Mombi at her magical incantations

•    The Scarecrow as royal treasurer
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•   •   •   •   •

Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.

Now, General Jinjur—who, you will remember, commanded the Army of Revolt—was rendered very uneasy by the escape of the Scarecrow from the Emerald City. She feared, and with good reason, that if his Majesty and the Tin Woodman joined forces, it would mean danger to her and her entire army; for the people of Oz had not yet forgotten the deeds of these famous heroes, who had passed successfully through so many startling adventures.

So Jinjur sent post-haste for old Mombi, the witch, and promised her large rewards if she would come to the assistance of the rebel army.

Mombi was furious at the trick Tip had played upon her, as well as at his escape and the theft of the precious Powder of Life; so she needed no urging to induce her to travel to the Emerald City to assist Jinjur in defeating the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who had made Tip one of their friends.

Mombi had no sooner arrived at the royal palace than she discovered, by means of her secret magic, that the adventurers were starting upon their journey to the Emerald City; so she retired to a small room high up in a tower and locked herself in while she practiced such arts as she could command to prevent the return of the Scarecrow and his companions.

That was why the Tin Woodman presently stopped and said:

“Something very curious has happened. I ought to know by heart every step of this journey, and yet I fear we have already lost our way.”

“That is quite impossible!” protested the Scarecrow. “Why do you think, my dear friend, that we have gone astray?”

“Why, here before us is a great field of sunflowers—and I never saw this field before in all my life.”

At these words they all looked around, only to find that they were indeed surrounded by a field of tall stalks, every stalk bearing at its top a gigantic sunflower. And not only were these flowers almost blinding in their vivid hues of red and gold, but each one whirled around upon its stalk like a miniature wind-mill, completely dazzling the vision of the beholders and so mystifying them that they knew not which way to turn.

“It’s witchcraft!” exclaimed Tip.

While they paused, hesitating and wondering, the Tin Woodman uttered a cry of impatience and advanced with swinging axe to cut down the stalks before him. But now the sunflowers suddenly stopped their rapid whirling, and the travelers plainly saw a girl’s face appear in the center of each flower. These lovely faces looked upon the astonished band with mocking smiles, and then burst into a chorus of merry laughter at the dismay their appearance caused.

“Stop! stop!” cried Tip, seizing the Woodman’s arm; “they’re alive! they’re girls!”

At that moment the flowers began whirling again, and the faces faded away and were lost in the rapid revolutions.

The Tin Woodman dropped his axe and sat down upon the ground.

“It would be heartless to chop down those pretty creatures,” said he, despondently; “and yet I do not know how else we can proceed upon our way.”

“They looked to me strangely like the faces of the Army of Revolt,” mused the Scarecrow. “But I cannot conceive how the girls could have followed us here so quickly.”

“I believe it’s magic,” said Tip, positively, “and that someone is playing a trick upon us. I’ve known old Mombi do things like that before. Probably it’s nothing more than an illusion, and there are no sunflowers here at all.”

“Then let us shut our eyes and walk forward,” suggested the Woodman.

“Excuse me,” replied the Scarecrow. “My eyes are not painted to shut. Because you happen to have tin eyelids, you must not imagine we are all built in the same way.”

“And the eyes of the Saw-Horse are knot eyes,” said Jack, leaning forward to examine them.

“Nevertheless, you must ride quickly forward,” commanded Tip, “and we will follow after you and so try to escape. My eyes are already so dazzled that I can scarcely see.”

So the Pumpkinhead rode boldly forward, and Tip grasped the stub tail of the Saw-Horse and followed with closed eyes. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman brought up the rear, and before they had gone many yards a joyful shout from Jack announced that the way was clear before them.

Then all paused to look backward, but not a trace of the field of sunflowers remained.

More cheerfully, now, they proceeded upon their journey; but old Mombi had so changed the appearance of the landscape that they would surely have been lost had not the Scarecrow wisely concluded to take their direction from the sun. For no witchcraft could change the course of the sun, and it was therefore a safe guide.

However, other difficulties lay before them. The Saw-Horse stepped into a rabbit hole and fell to the ground. The Pumpkinhead was pitched high into the air, and his history would probably have ended at that exact moment had not the Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin as it descended and saved it from injury.

Tip soon had it fitted to the neck again and replaced Jack upon his feet. But the Saw-Horse did not escape so easily. For when his leg was pulled from the rabbit hole it was found to be broken short off, and must be replaced or repaired before he could go a step farther.

“This is quite serious,” said the Tin Woodman. “If there were trees near by I might soon manufacture another leg for this animal; but I cannot see even a shrub for miles around.”

“And there are neither fences nor houses in this part of the land of Oz,” added the Scarecrow, disconsolately.

“Then what shall we do?” enquired the boy.

“I suppose I must start my brains working,” replied his Majesty the Scarecrow; “for experience has taught me that I can do anything if I but take time to think it out.”

“Let us all think,” said Tip; “and perhaps we shall find a way to repair the Saw-Horse.”

So they sat in a row upon the grass and began to think, while the Saw-Horse occupied itself by gazing curiously upon its broken limb.

“Does it hurt?” asked the Tin Woodman, in a soft, sympathetic voice.

“Not in the least,” returned the Saw-Horse; “but my pride is injured to find that my anatomy is so brittle.”

For a time the little group remained in silent thought. Presently the Tin Woodman raised his head and looked over the fields.

“What sort of creature is that which approaches us?” he asked, wonderingly.

The others followed his gaze, and discovered coming toward them the most extraordinary object they had ever beheld. It advanced quickly and noiselessly over the soft grass and in a few minutes stood before the adventurers and regarded them with an astonishment equal to their own.

The Scarecrow was calm under all circumstances.

“Good morning!” he said, politely.

The stranger removed his hat with a flourish, bowed very low, and then responded:

“Good morning, one and all. I hope you are, as an aggregation, enjoying excellent health. Permit me to present my card.”

With this courteous speech it extended a card toward the Scarecrow, who accepted it, turned it over and over, and then handed it with a shake of his head to Tip.

The boy read aloud:

“MR. H. M. WOGGLE-BUG, T. E.”

“Dear me!” ejaculated the Pumpkinhead, staring somewhat intently.

“How very peculiar!” said the Tin Woodman.

Tip’s eyes were round and wondering, and the Saw-Horse uttered a sigh and turned away its head.

“Are you really a Woggle-Bug?” enquired the Scarecrow.

“Most certainly, my dear sir!” answered the stranger, briskly. “Is not my name upon the card?”

“It is,” said the Scarecrow. “But may I ask what ‘H. M.’ stands for?”

“‘H. M.’ means Highly Magnified,” returned the Woggle-Bug, proudly.

“Oh, I see.” The Scarecrow viewed the stranger critically. “And are you, in truth, highly magnified?”

“Sir,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I take you for a gentleman of judgment and discernment. Does it not occur to you that I am several thousand times greater than any Woggle-Bug you ever saw before? Therefore it is plainly evident that I am Highly Magnified, and there is no good reason why you should doubt the fact.”

“Pardon me,” returned the Scarecrow. “My brains are slightly mixed since I was last laundered. Would it be improper for me to ask, also, what the ‘T. E.’ at the end of your name stands for?”

“Those letters express my degree,” answered the Woggle-Bug, with a condescending smile. “To be more explicit, the initials mean that I am Thoroughly Educated.”

“Oh!” said the Scarecrow, much relieved.

Tip had not yet taken his eyes off this wonderful personage. What he saw was a great, round, bug-like body supported upon two slender legs which ended in delicate feet—the toes curling upward. The body of the Woggle-Bug was rather flat, and judging from what could be seen of it was of a glistening dark brown color upon the back, while the front was striped with alternate bands of light brown and white, blending together at the edges. Its arms were fully as slender as its legs, and upon a rather long neck was perched its head—not unlike the head of a man, except that its nose ended in a curling antenna, or “feeler,” and its ears from the upper points bore antennae that decorated the sides of its head like two miniature, curling pig tails. It must be admitted that the round, black eyes were rather bulging in appearance; but the expression upon the Woggle-Bug’s face was by no means unpleasant.

For dress the insect wore a dark-blue swallow-tail coat with a yellow silk lining and a flower in the button-hole; a vest of white duck that stretched tightly across the wide body; knickerbockers of fawn-colored plush, fastened at the knees with gilt buckles; and, perched upon its small head, was jauntily set a tall silk hat.

Standing upright before our amazed friends the Woggle-Bug appeared to be fully as tall as the Tin Woodman; and surely no bug in all the Land of Oz had ever before attained so enormous a size.

“I confess,” said the Scarecrow, “that your abrupt appearance has caused me surprise, and no doubt has startled my companions. I hope, however, that this circumstance will not distress you. We shall probably get used to you in time.”

“Do not apologize, I beg of you!” returned the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. “It affords me great pleasure to surprise people; for surely I cannot be classed with ordinary insects and am entitled to both curiosity and admiration from those I meet.”

“You are, indeed,” agreed his Majesty.

“If you will permit me to seat myself in your august company,” continued the stranger, “I will gladly relate my history, so that you will be better able to comprehend my unusual—may I say remarkable?—appearance.”

“You may say what you please,” answered the Tin Woodman, briefly.

So the Woggle-Bug sat down upon the grass, facing the little group of wanderers, and told them the following story:

A Highly Magnified History

“It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my recital that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug,” began the creature, in a frank and friendly tone. “Knowing no better, I used my arms as well as my legs for walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid among the roots of grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects smaller than myself to feed upon.

“The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no clothing, but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life and restored me to activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must remember it is the regularly ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well as of many other tiny creatures that inhabit the earth.

“But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander fate! One day I crawled near to a country school house, and my curiosity being excited by the monotonous hum of the students within, I made bold to enter and creep along a crack between two boards until I reached the far end, where, in front of a hearth of glowing embers, sat the master at his desk.

“No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found that the hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine, I resolved to establish my future home beside it. So I found a charming nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many, many months.

“Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land of Oz, and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and discourses he gave his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than the humble, unnoticed Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of knowledge that I will myself confess is simply marvelous. That is why I place ‘T. E.’—Thoroughly Educated—upon my cards; for my greatest pride lies in the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with a tenth part of my own culture and erudition.”

“I do not blame you,” said the Scarecrow. “Education is a thing to be proud of. I’m educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled.”

“Nevertheless,” interrupted the Tin Woodman, “a good heart is, I believe, much more desirable than education or brains.”

“To me,” said the Saw-Horse, “a good leg is more desirable than either.”

“Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?” enquired the Pumpkinhead, abruptly.

“Keep quiet!” commanded Tip, sternly.

“Very well, dear father,” answered the obedient Jack.

The Woggle-Bug listened patiently—even respectfully—to these remarks, and then resumed his story.

“I must have lived fully three years in that secluded school-house hearth,” said he, “drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of limpid knowledge before me.”

“Quite poetical,” commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head approvingly.

“But one day,” continued the Bug, “a marvelous circumstance occurred that altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of greatness. The Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across the hearth, and before I could escape he had caught me between his thumb and forefinger.

“‘My dear children,’ said he, ‘I have captured a Woggle-Bug—a very rare and interesting specimen. Do any of you know what a Woggle-Bug is?’

“‘No!’ yelled the scholars, in chorus.

“‘Then,’ said the Professor, ‘I will get out my famous magnifying-glass and throw the insect upon a screen in a highly-magnified condition, that you may all study carefully its peculiar construction and become acquainted with its habits and manner of life.’

“He then brought from a cupboard a most curious instrument, and before I could realize what had happened I found myself thrown upon a screen in a highly-magnified state—even as you now behold me.

“The students stood up on their stools and craned their heads forward to get a better view of me, and two little girls jumped upon the sill of an open window where they could see more plainly.

“‘Behold!’ cried the Professor, in a loud voice, ‘this highly-magnified Woggle-Bug; one of the most curious insects in existence!’

“Being Thoroughly Educated, and knowing what is required of a cultured gentleman, at this juncture I stood upright and, placing my hand upon my bosom, made a very polite bow. My action, being unexpected, must have startled them, for one of the little girls perched upon the window-sill gave a scream and fell backward out the window, drawing her companion with her as she disappeared.

“The Professor uttered a cry of horror and rushed away through the door to see if the poor children were injured by the fall. The scholars followed after him in a wild mob, and I was left alone in the school-room, still in a Highly-Magnified state and free to do as I pleased.

“It immediately occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to escape. I was proud of my great size, and realized that now I could safely travel anywhere in the world, while my superior culture would make me a fit associate for the most learned person I might chance to meet.

“So, while the Professor picked the little girls—who were more frightened than hurt—off the ground, and the pupils clustered around him closely grouped, I calmly walked out of the school-house, turned a corner, and escaped unnoticed to a grove of trees that stood near.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, admiringly.

“It was, indeed,” agreed the Woggle-Bug. “I have never ceased to congratulate myself for escaping while I was Highly Magnified; for even my excessive knowledge would have proved of little use to me had I remained a tiny, insignificant insect.”

“I didn’t know before,” said Tip, looking at the Woggle-Bug with a puzzled expression, “that insects wore clothes.”

“Nor do they, in their natural state,” returned the stranger. “But in the course of my wanderings I had the good fortune to save the ninth life of a tailor—tailors having, like cats, nine lives, as you probably know. The fellow was exceedingly grateful, for had he lost that ninth life it would have been the end of him; so he begged permission to furnish me with the stylish costume I now wear. It fits very nicely, does it not?” and the Woggle-Bug stood up and turned himself around slowly, that all might examine his person.

“He must have been a good tailor,” said the Scarecrow, somewhat enviously.

“He was a good-hearted tailor, at any rate,” observed Nick Chopper.

“But where were you going, when you met us?” Tip asked the Woggle-Bug.

“Nowhere in particular,” was the reply, “although it is my intention soon to visit the Emerald City and arrange to give a course of lectures to select audiences on the ‘Advantages of Magnification.’”

“We are bound for the Emerald City now,” said the Tin Woodman; “so, if it pleases you to do so, you are welcome to travel in our company.”

The Woggle-Bug bowed with profound grace.

“It will give me great pleasure,” said he, “to accept your kind invitation; for nowhere in the Land of Oz could I hope to meet with so congenial a company.”

“That is true,” acknowledged the Pumpkinhead. “We are quite as congenial as flies and honey.”

“But—pardon me if I seem inquisitive—are you not all rather—ahem!—rather unusual?” asked the Woggle-Bug, looking from one to another with unconcealed interest.

“Not more so than yourself,” answered the Scarecrow. “Everything in life is unusual until you get accustomed to it.”

“What rare philosophy!” exclaimed the Woggle-Bug, admiringly.

“Yes; my brains are working well today,” admitted the Scarecrow, an accent of pride in his voice.

“Then, if you are sufficiently rested and refreshed, let us bend our steps toward the Emerald City,” suggested the magnified one.

“We can’t,” said Tip. “The Saw-Horse has broken a leg, so he can’t bend his steps. And there is no wood around to make him a new limb from. And we can’t leave the horse behind because the Pumpkinhead is so stiff in his joints that he has to ride.”

“How very unfortunate!” cried the Woggle-Bug. Then he looked the party over carefully and said:

“If the Pumpkinhead is to ride, why not use one of his legs to make a leg for the horse that carries him? I judge that both are made of wood.”

“Now, that is what I call real cleverness,” said the Scarecrow, approvingly. “I wonder my brains did not think of that long ago! Get to work, my dear Nick, and fit the Pumpkinhead’s leg to the Saw-Horse.”

Jack was not especially pleased with this idea; but he submitted to having his left leg amputated by the Tin Woodman and whittled down to fit the left leg of the Saw-Horse. Nor was the Saw-Horse especially pleased with the operation, either; for he growled a good deal about being “butchered,” as he called it, and afterward declared that the new leg was a disgrace to a respectable Saw-Horse.

“I beg you to be more careful in your speech,” said the Pumpkinhead, sharply. “Remember, if you please, that it is my leg you are abusing.”

“I cannot forget it,” retorted the Saw-Horse, “for it is quite as flimsy as the rest of your person.”

“Flimsy! me flimsy!” cried Jack, in a rage. “How dare you call me flimsy?”

“Because you are built as absurdly as a jumping- jack,” sneered the horse, rolling his knotty eyes in a vicious manner. “Even your head won’t stay straight, and you never can tell whether you are looking backwards or forward!”

“Friends, I entreat you not to quarrel!” pleaded the Tin Woodman, anxiously. “As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism; so let us bear with each others’ faults.”

“An excellent suggestion,” said the Woggle-Bug, approvingly. “You must have an excellent heart, my metallic friend.”

“I have,” returned Nick, well pleased. “My heart is quite the best part of me. But now let us start upon our journey.”

They perched the one-legged Pumpkinhead upon the Saw-Horse, and tied him to his seat with cords, so that he could not possibly fall off.

And then, following the lead of the Scarecrow, they all advanced in the direction of the Emerald City.

Old Mombi Indulges in Witchcraft

They soon discovered that the Saw-Horse limped, for his new leg was a trifle too long. So they were obliged to halt while the Tin Woodman chopped it down with his axe, after which the wooden steed paced along more comfortably. But the Saw-Horse was not entirely satisfied, even yet.

“It was a shame that I broke my other leg!” it growled.

“On the contrary,” airily remarked the Woggle-Bug, who was walking alongside, “you should consider the accident most fortunate. For a horse is never of much use until he has been broken.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Tip, rather provoked, for he felt a warm interest in both the Saw-Horse and his man Jack; “but permit me to say that your joke is a poor one, and as old as it is poor.”

“Still, it is a joke,” declared the Woggle-Bug, firmly, “and a joke derived from a play upon words is considered among educated people to be eminently proper.”

“What does that mean?” enquired the Pumpkinhead, stupidly.

“It means, my dear friend,” explained the Woggle-Bug, “that our language contains many words having a double meaning; and that to pronounce a joke that allows both meanings of a certain word, proves the joker a person of culture and refinement, who has, moreover, a thorough command of the language.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Tip, plainly; “anybody can make a pun.”

“Not so,” rejoined the Woggle-Bug, stiffly. “It requires education of a high order. Are you educated, young sir?”

“Not especially,” admitted Tip.

“Then you cannot judge the matter. I myself am Thoroughly Educated, and I say that puns display genius. For instance, were I to ride upon this Saw-Horse, he would not only be an animal—he would become an equipage. For he would then be a horse-and-buggy.”

At this the Scarecrow gave a gasp and the Tin Woodman stopped short and looked reproachfully at the Woggle-Bug. At the same time the Saw-Horse loudly snorted his derision; and even the Pumpkinhead put up his hand to hide the smile which, because it was carved upon his face, he could not change to a frown.

But the Woggle-Bug strutted along as if he had made some brilliant remark, and the Scarecrow was obliged to say:

“I have heard, my dear friend, that a person can become over-educated; and although I have a high respect for brains, no matter how they may be arranged or classified, I begin to suspect that yours are slightly tangled. In any event, I must beg you to restrain your superior education while in our society.”

“We are not very particular,” added the Tin Woodman; “and we are exceedingly kind hearted. But if your superior culture gets leaky again—” He did not complete the sentence, but he twirled his gleaming axe so carelessly that the Woggle-Bug looked frightened, and shrank away to a safe distance.

The others marched on in silence, and the Highly-Magnified one, after a period of deep thought, said in an humble voice:

“I will endeavor to restrain myself.”

“That is all we can expect,” returned the Scarecrow, pleasantly; and good nature being thus happily restored to the party, they proceeded upon their way.

When they again stopped to allow Tip to rest—the boy being the only one that seemed to tire—the Tin Woodman noticed many small, round holes in the grassy meadow.

“This must be a village of the Field Mice,” he said to the Scarecrow. “I wonder if my old friend, the Queen of the Mice, is in this neighborhood.”

“If she is, she may be of great service to us,” answered the Scarecrow, who was impressed by a sudden thought. “See if you can call her, my dear Nick.”

So the Tin Woodman blew a shrill note upon a silver whistle that hung around his neck, and presently a tiny gray mouse popped from a near-by hole and advanced fearlessly toward them. For the Tin Woodman had once saved her life, and the Queen of the Field Mice knew he was to be trusted.

“Good day, your Majesty,” said Nick, politely addressing the mouse; “I trust you are enjoying good health?”

“Thank you, I am quite well,” answered the Queen, demurely, as she sat up and displayed the tiny golden crown upon her head. “Can I do anything to assist my old friends?”

“You can, indeed,” replied the Scarecrow, eagerly. “Let me, I intreat you, take a dozen of your subjects with me to the Emerald City.”

“Will they be injured in any way?” asked the Queen, doubtfully.

“I think not,” replied the Scarecrow. “I will carry them hidden in the straw which stuffs my body, and when I give them the signal by unbuttoning my jacket, they have only to rush out and scamper home again as fast as they can. By doing this they will assist me to regain my throne, which the Army of Revolt has taken from me.”

“In that case,” said the Queen, “I will not refuse your request. Whenever you are ready, I will call twelve of my most intelligent subjects.”

“I am ready now,” returned the Scarecrow. Then he lay flat upon the ground and unbuttoned his jacket, displaying the mass of straw with which he was stuffed.

The Queen uttered a little piping call, and in an instant a dozen pretty field mice had emerged from their holes and stood before their ruler, awaiting her orders.

What the Queen said to them none of our travelers could understand, for it was in the mouse language; but the field mice obeyed without hesitation, running one after the other to the Scarecrow and hiding themselves in the straw of his breast.

When all of the twelve mice had thus concealed themselves, the Scarecrow buttoned his jacket securely and then arose and thanked the Queen for her kindness.

“One thing more you might do to serve us,” suggested the Tin Woodman; “and that is to run ahead and show us the way to the Emerald City. For some enemy is evidently trying to prevent us from reaching it.”

“I will do that gladly,” returned the Queen. “Are you ready?”

The Tin Woodman looked at Tip.

“I’m rested,” said the boy. “Let us start.”

Then they resumed their journey, the little gray Queen of the Field Mice running swiftly ahead and then pausing until the travelers drew near, when away she would dart again.

Without this unerring guide the Scarecrow and his comrades might never have gained the Emerald City; for many were the obstacles thrown in their way by the arts of old Mombi. Yet not one of the obstacles really existed—all were cleverly contrived deceptions. For when they came to the banks of a rushing river that threatened to bar their way the little Queen kept steadily on, passing through the seeming flood in safety; and our travelers followed her without encountering a single drop of water.

Again, a high wall of granite towered high above their heads and opposed their advance. But the gray Field Mouse walked straight through it, and the others did the same, the wall melting into mist as they passed it.

Afterward, when they had stopped for a moment to allow Tip to rest, they saw forty roads branching off from their feet in forty different directions; and soon these forty roads began whirling around like a mighty wheel, first in one direction and then in the other, completely bewildering their vision.

But the Queen called for them to follow her and darted off in a straight line; and when they had gone a few paces the whirling pathways vanished and were seen no more.

Mombi’s last trick was most fearful of all. She sent a sheet of crackling flame rushing over the meadow to consume them; and for the first time the Scarecrow became afraid and turned to fly.

“If that fire reaches me I will be gone in no time!” said he, trembling until his straw rattled. “It’s the most dangerous thing I ever encountered.”

“I’m off, too!” cried the Saw-Horse, turning and prancing with agitation; “for my wood is so dry it would burn like kindling.”

“Is fire dangerous to pumpkins?” asked Jack, fearfully.

“You’ll be baked like a tart—and so will I!” answered the Woggle-Bug, getting down on all fours so he could run the faster.

But the Tin Woodman, having no fear of fire, averted the stampede by a few sensible words.

“Look at the Field Mouse!” he shouted. “The fire does not burn her in the least. In fact, it is no fire at all, but only a deception.”

Indeed, to watch the little Queen march calmly through the advancing flames restored courage to every member of the party, and they followed her without being even scorched.

“This is surely a most extraordinary adventure,” said the Woggle-Bug, who was greatly amazed; “for it upsets all the Natural Laws that I heard Professor Nowitall teach in the school-house.”

“Of course it does,” said the Scarecrow, wisely. “All magic is unnatural, and for that reason is to be feared and avoided. But I see before us the gates of the Emerald City, so I imagine we have now overcome all the magical obstacles that seemed to oppose us.”

Indeed, the walls of the City were plainly visible, and the Queen of the Field Mice, who had guided them so faithfully, came near to bid them good-bye.

“We are very grateful to your Majesty for your kind assistance,” said the Tin Woodman, bowing before the pretty creature.

“I am always pleased to be of service to my friends,” answered the Queen, and in a flash she had darted away upon her journey home.

The Prisoners of the Queen

Approaching the gateway of the Emerald City the travelers found it guarded by two girls of the Army of Revolt, who opposed their entrance by drawing the knitting-needles from their hair and threatening to prod the first that came near.

But the Tin Woodman was not afraid.

“At the worst they can but scratch my beautiful nickel-plate,” he said. “But there will be no ‘worst,’ for I think I can manage to frighten these absurd soldiers very easily. Follow me closely, all of you!”

Then, swinging his axe in a great circle to right and left before him, he advanced upon the gate, and the others followed him without hesitation.

The girls, who had expected no resistance whatever, were terrified by the sweep of the glittering axe and fled screaming into the city; so that our travelers passed the gates in safety and marched down the green marble pavement of the wide street toward the royal palace.

“At this rate we will soon have your Majesty upon the throne again,” said the Tin Woodman, laughing at his easy conquest of the guards.

“Thank you, friend Nick,” returned the Scarecrow, gratefully. “Nothing can resist your kind heart and your sharp axe.”

As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.

“What has happened?” the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby-carriage along the sidewalk.

“Why, we’ve had a revolution, your Majesty—as you ought to know very well,” replied the man; “and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I’m glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.”

“Hm!” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?”

“I really do not know,” replied the man, with a deep sigh. “Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron.”

No movement was made, as they passed along the street, to oppose their progress. Several of the women stopped their gossip long enough to cast curious looks upon our friends, but immediately they would turn away with a laugh or a sneer and resume their chatter. And when they met with several girls belonging to the Army of Revolt, those soldiers, instead of being alarmed or appearing surprised, merely stepped out of the way and allowed them to advance without protest.

This action rendered the Scarecrow uneasy.

“I’m afraid we are walking into a trap,” said he.

“Nonsense!” returned Nick Chopper, confidently; “the silly creatures are conquered already!”

But the Scarecrow shook his head in a way that expressed doubt, and Tip said:

“It’s too easy, altogether. Look out for trouble ahead.”

“I will,” returned his Majesty.

Unopposed they reached the royal palace and marched up the marble steps, which had once been thickly encrusted with emeralds but were now filled with tiny holes where the jewels had been ruthlessly torn from their settings by the Army of Revolt. And so far not a rebel barred their way.

Through the arched hallways and into the magnificent throne room marched the Tin Woodman and his followers, and here, when the green silken curtains fell behind them, they saw a curious sight.

Seated within the glittering throne was General Jinjur, with the Scarecrow’s second-best crown upon her head, and the royal sceptre in her right hand. A box of caramels, from which she was eating, rested in her lap, and the girl seemed entirely at ease in her royal surroundings.

The Scarecrow stepped forward and confronted her, while the Tin Woodman leaned upon his axe and the others formed a half-circle back of his Majesty’s person.

“How dare you sit in my throne?” demanded the Scarecrow, sternly eyeing the intruder. “Don’t you know you are guilty of treason, and that there is a law against treason?”

“The throne belongs to whoever is able to take it,” answered Jinjur, as she slowly ate another caramel. “I have taken it, as you see; so just now I am the Queen, and all who oppose me are guilty of treason, and must be punished by the law you have just mentioned.”

This view of the case puzzled the Scarecrow.

“How is it, friend Nick?” he asked, turning to the Tin Woodman.

“Why, when it comes to Law, I have nothing to say,” answered that personage; “for laws were never meant to be understood, and it is foolish to make the attempt.”

“Then what shall we do?” asked the Scarecrow, in dismay.

“Why don’t you marry the Queen? And then you can both rule,” suggested the Woggle-Bug.

Jinjur glared at the insect fiercely.

“Why don’t you send her back to her mother, where she belongs?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.

Jinjur frowned.

“Why don’t you shut her up in a closet until she behaves herself, and promises to be good?” enquired Tip. Jinjur’s lip curled scornfully.

“Or give her a good shaking!” added the Saw-Horse.

“No,” said the Tin Woodman, “we must treat the poor girl with gentleness. Let us give her all the jewels she can carry, and send her away happy and contented.”

At this Queen Jinjur laughed aloud, and the next minute clapped her pretty hands together thrice, as if for a signal.

“You are very absurd creatures,” said she; “but I am tired of your nonsense and have no time to bother with you longer.”

While the monarch and his friends listened in amazement to this impudent speech, a startling thing happened. The Tin Woodman’s axe was snatched from his grasp by some person behind him, and he found himself disarmed and helpless. At the same instant a shout of laughter rang in the ears of the devoted band, and turning to see whence this came they found themselves surrounded by the Army of Revolt, the girls bearing in either hand their glistening knitting-needles. The entire throne room seemed to be filled with the rebels, and the Scarecrow and his comrades realized that they were prisoners.

“You see how foolish it is to oppose a woman’s wit,” said Jinjur, gaily; “and this event only proves that I am more fit to rule the Emerald City than a Scarecrow. I bear you no ill will, I assure you; but lest you should prove troublesome to me in the future I shall order you all to be destroyed. That is, all except the boy, who belongs to old Mombi and must be restored to her keeping. The rest of you are not human, and therefore it will not be wicked to demolish you. The Saw-Horse and the Pumpkinhead’s body I will have chopped up for kindling-wood; and the pumpkin shall be made into tarts. The Scarecrow will do nicely to start a bonfire, and the tin man can be cut into small pieces and fed to the goats. As for this immense Woggle-Bug—”

“Highly Magnified, if you please!” interrupted the insect.

“I think I will ask the cook to make green-turtle soup of you,” continued the Queen, reflectively.

The Woggle-Bug shuddered.

“Or, if that won’t do, we might use you for a Hungarian goulash, stewed and highly spiced,” she added, cruelly.

This program of extermination was so terrible that the prisoners looked upon one another in a panic of fear. The Scarecrow alone did not give way to despair. He stood quietly before the Queen and his brow was wrinkled in deep thought as he strove to find some means to escape.

While thus engaged he felt the straw within his breast move gently. At once his expression changed from sadness to joy, and raising his hand he quickly unbuttoned the front of his jacket.

This action did not pass unnoticed by the crowd of girls clustering about him, but none of them suspected what he was doing until a tiny gray mouse leaped from his bosom to the floor and scampered away between the feet of the Army of Revolt. Another mouse quickly followed; then another and another, in rapid succession. And suddenly such a scream of terror went up from the Army that it might easily have filled the stoutest heart with consternation. The flight that ensued turned to a stampede, and the stampede to a panic.

For while the startled mice rushed wildly about the room the Scarecrow had only time to note a whirl of skirts and a twinkling of feet as the girls disappeared from the palace—pushing and crowding one another in their mad efforts to escape.

The Queen, at the first alarm, stood up on the cushions of the throne and began to dance frantically upon her tiptoes. Then a mouse ran up the cushions, and with a terrified leap poor Jinjur shot clear over the head of the Scarecrow and escaped through an archway—never pausing in her wild career until she had reached the city gates.

So, in less time than I can explain, the throne room was deserted by all save the Scarecrow and his friends, and the Woggle-Bug heaved a deep sigh of relief as he exclaimed:

“Thank goodness, we are saved!”

“For a time, yes;” answered the Tin Woodman. “But the enemy will soon return, I fear.”

“Let us bar all the entrances to the palace!” said the Scarecrow. “Then we shall have time to think what is best to be done.”

So all except Jack Pumpkinhead, who was still tied fast to the Saw-Horse, ran to the various entrances of the royal palace and closed the heavy doors, bolting and locking them securely. Then, knowing that the Army of Revolt could not batter down the barriers in several days, the adventurers gathered once more in the throne room for a council of war.

The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think

“It seems to me,” began the Scarecrow, when all were again assembled in the throne room, “that the girl Jinjur is quite right in claiming to be Queen. And if she is right, then I am wrong, and we have no business to be occupying her palace.”

“But you were the King until she came,” said the Woggle-Bug, strutting up and down with his hands in his pockets; “so it appears to me that she is the interloper instead of you.”

“Especially as we have just conquered her and put her to flight,” added the Pumpkinhead, as he raised his hands to turn his face toward the Scarecrow.

“Have we really conquered her?” asked the Scarecrow, quietly. “Look out of the window, and tell me what you see.”

Tip ran to the window and looked out.

“The palace is surrounded by a double row of girl soldiers,” he announced.

“I thought so,” returned the Scarecrow. “We are as truly their prisoners as we were before the mice frightened them from the palace.”

“My friend is right,” said Nick Chopper, who had been polishing his breast with a bit of chamois-leather. “Jinjur is still the Queen, and we are her prisoners.”

“But I hope she cannot get at us,” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, with a shiver of fear. “She threatened to make tarts of me, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” said the Tin Woodman. “It cannot matter greatly. If you stay shut up here you will spoil in time, anyway. A good tart is far more admirable than a decayed intellect.”

“Very true,” agreed the Scarecrow.

“Oh, dear!” moaned Jack; “what an unhappy lot is mine! Why, dear father, did you not make me out of tin—or even out of straw—so that I would keep indefinitely.”

“Shucks!” returned Tip, indignantly. “You ought to be glad that I made you at all.” Then he added, reflectively, “everything has to come to an end, sometime.”

“But I beg to remind you,” broke in the Woggle-Bug, who had a distressed look in his bulging, round eyes, “that this terrible Queen Jinjur suggested making a goulash of me—Me! the only Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated Woggle-Bug in the wide, wide world!”

“I think it was a brilliant idea,” remarked the Scarecrow, approvingly.

“Don’t you imagine he would make a better soup?” asked the Tin Woodman, turning toward his friend.

“Well, perhaps,” acknowledged the Scarecrow.

The Woggle-Bug groaned.

“I can see, in my mind’s eye,” said he, mournfully, “the goats eating small pieces of my dear comrade, the Tin Woodman, while my soup is being cooked on a bonfire built of the Saw-Horse and Jack Pumpkinhead’s body, and Queen Jinjur watches me boil while she feeds the flames with my friend the Scarecrow!”

This morbid picture cast a gloom over the entire party, making them restless and anxious.

“It can’t happen for some time,” said the Tin Woodman, trying to speak cheerfully; “for we shall be able to keep Jinjur out of the palace until she manages to break down the doors.”

“And in the meantime I am liable to starve to death, and so is the Woggle-Bug,” announced Tip.

“As for me,” said the Woggle-Bug, “I think that I could live for some time on Jack Pumpkinhead. Not that I prefer pumpkins for food; but I believe they are somewhat nutritious, and Jack’s head is large and plump.”

“How heartless!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman, greatly shocked. “Are we cannibals, let me ask? Or are we faithful friends?”

“I see very clearly that we cannot stay shut up in this palace,” said the Scarecrow, with decision. “So let us end this mournful talk and try to discover a means to escape.”

At this suggestion they all gathered eagerly around the throne, wherein was seated the Scarecrow, and as Tip sat down upon a stool there fell from his pocket a pepper-box, which rolled upon the floor.

“What is this?” asked Nick Chopper, picking up the box.

“Be careful!” cried the boy. “That’s my Powder of Life. Don’t spill it, for it is nearly gone.”

“And what is the Powder of Life?” enquired the Scarecrow, as Tip replaced the box carefully in his pocket.

“It’s some magical stuff old Mombi got from a crooked sorcerer,” explained the boy. “She brought Jack to life with it, and afterward I used it to bring the Saw-Horse to life. I guess it will make anything live that is sprinkled with it; but there’s only about one dose left.”

“Then it is very precious,” said the Tin Woodman.

“Indeed it is,” agreed the Scarecrow. “It may prove our best means of escape from our difficulties. I believe I will think for a few minutes; so I will thank you, friend Tip, to get out your knife and rip this heavy crown from my forehead.”

Tip soon cut the stitches that had fastened the crown to the Scarecrow’s head, and the former monarch of the Emerald City removed it with a sigh of relief and hung it on a peg beside the throne.

“That is my last memento of royalty,” said he; “and I’m glad to get rid of it. The former King of this City, who was named Pastoria, lost the crown to the Wonderful Wizard, who passed it on to me. Now the girl Jinjur claims it, and I sincerely hope it will not give her a headache.”

“A kindly thought, which I greatly admire,” said the Tin Woodman, nodding approvingly.

“And now I will indulge in a quiet think,” continued the Scarecrow, lying back in the throne.

The others remained as silent and still as possible, so as not to disturb him; for all had great confidence in the extraordinary brains of the Scarecrow.

And, after what seemed a very long time indeed to the anxious watchers, the thinker sat up, looked upon his friends with his most whimsical expression, and said:

“My brains work beautifully today. I’m quite proud of them. Now, listen! If we attempt to escape through the doors of the palace we shall surely be captured. And, as we can’t escape through the ground, there is only one other thing to be done. We must escape through the air!”

He paused to note the effect of these words; but all his hearers seemed puzzled and unconvinced.

“The Wonderful Wizard escaped in a balloon,” he continued. “We don’t know how to make a balloon, of course; but any sort of thing that can fly through the air can carry us easily. So I suggest that my friend the Tin Woodman, who is a skillful mechanic, shall build some sort of a machine, with good strong wings, to carry us; and our friend Tip can then bring the Thing to life with his magical powder.”

“Bravo!” cried Nick Chopper.

“What splendid brains!” murmured Jack.

“Really quite clever!” said the Educated Woggle-Bug.

“I believe it can be done,” declared Tip; “that is, if the Tin Woodman is equal to making the Thing.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Nick, cheerily; “and, as a matter of fact, I do not often fail in what I attempt. But the Thing will have to be built on the roof of the palace, so it can rise comfortably into the air.”

“To be sure,” said the Scarecrow.

“Then let us search through the palace,” continued the Tin Woodman, “and carry all the material we can find to the roof, where I will begin my work.”

“First, however,” said the Pumpkinhead, “I beg you will release me from this horse, and make me another leg to walk with. For in my present condition I am of no use to myself or to anyone else.”

So the Tin Woodman knocked a mahogany center-table to pieces with his axe and fitted one of the legs, which was beautifully carved, on to the body of Jack Pumpkinhead, who was very proud of the acquisition.

“It seems strange,” said he, as he watched the Tin Woodman work, “that my left leg should be the most elegant and substantial part of me.”

“That proves you are unusual,” returned the Scarecrow; “and I am convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a tree, and live and die unnoticed.”

“Spoken like a philosopher!” cried the Woggle-Bug, as he assisted the Tin Woodman to set Jack upon his feet.

“How do you feel now?” asked Tip, watching the Pumpkinhead stump around to try his new leg.

“As good as new,” answered Jack, joyfully, “and quite ready to assist you all to escape.”

“Then let us get to work,” said the Scarecrow, in a business-like tone.

So, glad to be doing anything that might lead to the end of their captivity, the friends separated to wander over the palace in search of fitting material to use in the construction of their aerial machine.

The Astonishing Flight of the Gump

When the adventurers reassembled upon the roof it was found that a remarkably queer assortment of articles had been selected by the various members of the party. No one seemed to have a very clear idea of what was required, but all had brought something.

The Woggle-Bug had taken from its position over the mantle-piece in the great hallway the head of a Gump, which was adorned with wide-spreading antlers; and this, with great care and greater difficulty, the insect had carried up the stairs to the roof. This Gump resembled an Elk’s head, only the nose turned upward in a saucy manner and there were whiskers upon its chin, like those of a billy-goat. Why the Woggle-Bug selected this article he could not have explained, except that it had aroused his curiosity.

Tip, with the aid of the Saw-Horse, had brought a large, upholstered sofa to the roof. It was an old-fashioned piece of furniture, with high back and ends, and it was so heavy that even by resting the greatest weight upon the back of the Saw-Horse, the boy found himself out of breath when at last the clumsy sofa was dumped upon the roof.

The Pumpkinhead had brought a broom, which was the first thing he saw. The Scarecrow arrived with a coil of clotheslines and ropes which he had taken from the courtyard, and in his trip up the stairs he had become so entangled in the loose ends of the ropes that both he and his burden tumbled in a heap upon the roof and might have rolled off if Tip had not rescued him.

The Tin Woodman appeared last. He also had been to the courtyard, where he had cut four great, spreading leaves from a huge palm-tree that was the pride of all the inhabitants of the Emerald City.

“My dear Nick!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, seeing what his friend had done; “you have been guilty of the greatest crime any person can commit in the Emerald City. If I remember rightly, the penalty for chopping leaves from the royal palm-tree is to be killed seven times and afterward imprisoned for life.”

“It cannot be helped now,” answered the Tin Woodman, throwing down the big leaves upon the roof. “But it may be one more reason why it is necessary for us to escape. And now let us see what you have found for me to work with.”

Many were the doubtful looks cast upon the heap of miscellaneous material that now cluttered the roof, and finally the Scarecrow shook his head and remarked:

“Well, if friend Nick can manufacture, from this mess of rubbish, a Thing that will fly through the air and carry us to safety, then I will acknowledge him to be a better mechanic than I suspected.”

But the Tin Woodman seemed at first by no means sure of his powers, and only after polishing his forehead vigorously with the chamois-leather did he resolve to undertake the task.

“The first thing required for the machine,” said he, “is a body big enough to carry the entire party. This sofa is the biggest thing we have, and might be used for a body. But, should the machine ever tip sideways, we would all slide off and fall to the ground.”

“Why not use two sofas?” asked Tip. “There’s another one just like this down stairs.”

“That is a very sensible suggestion,” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “You must fetch the other sofa at once.”

So Tip and the Saw-Horse managed, with much labor, to get the second sofa to the roof; and when the two were placed together, edge to edge, the backs and ends formed a protecting rampart all around the seats.

“Excellent!” cried the Scarecrow. “We can ride within this snug nest quite at our ease.”

The two sofas were now bound firmly together with ropes and clotheslines, and then Nick Chopper fastened the Gump’s head to one end.

“That will show which is the front end of the Thing,” said he, greatly pleased with the idea. “And, really, if you examine it critically, the Gump looks very well as a figure-head. These great palm-leaves, for which I have endangered my life seven times, must serve us as wings.”

“Are they strong enough?” asked the boy.

“They are as strong as anything we can get,” answered the Woodman; “and although they are not in proportion to the Thing’s body, we are not in a position to be very particular.”

So he fastened the palm-leaves to the sofas, two on each side.

Said the Woggle-Bug, with considerable admiration:

“The Thing is now complete, and only needs to be brought to life.”

“Stop a moment!” exclaimed Jack. “Are you not going to use my broom?”

“What for?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Why, it can be fastened to the back end for a tail,” answered the Pumpkinhead. “Surely you would not call the Thing complete without a tail.”

“Hm!” said the Tin Woodman; “I do not see the use of a tail. We are not trying to copy a beast, or a fish, or a bird. All we ask of the Thing is to carry us through the air.”

“Perhaps, after the Thing is brought to life, it can use a tail to steer with,” suggested the Scarecrow. “For if it flies through the air it will not be unlike a bird, and I’ve noticed that all birds have tails, which they use for a rudder while flying.”

“Very well,” answered Nick, “the broom shall be used for a tail,” and he fastened it firmly to the back end of the sofa body.

Tip took the pepper-box from his pocket.

“The Thing looks very big,” said he, anxiously; “and I am not sure there is enough powder left to bring all of it to life. But I’ll make it go as far as possible.”

“Put most on the wings,” said Nick Chopper; “for they must be made as strong as possible.”

“And don’t forget the head!” exclaimed the Woggle-Bug.

“Or the tail!” added Jack Pumpkinhead.

“Do be quiet,” said Tip, nervously; “you must give me a chance to work the magic charm in the proper manner.”

Very carefully he began sprinkling the Thing with the precious powder. Each of the four wings was first lightly covered with a layer; then the sofas were sprinkled, and the broom given a slight coating.

“The head! The head! Don’t, I beg of you, forget the head!” cried the Woggle-Bug, excitedly.

“There’s only a little of the powder left,” announced Tip, looking within the box. “And it seems to me it is more important to bring the legs of the sofas to life than the head.”

“Not so,” decided the Scarecrow. “Everything must have a head to direct it; and since this creature is to fly, and not walk, it is really unimportant whether its legs are alive or not.”

So Tip abided by this decision and sprinkled the Gump’s head with the remainder of the powder.

“Now,” said he, “keep silence while I work the charm!”

Having heard old Mombi pronounce the magic words, and having also succeeded in bringing the Saw-Horse to life, Tip did not hesitate an instant in speaking the three cabalistic words, each accompanied by the peculiar gesture of the hands.

It was a grave and impressive ceremony.

As he finished the incantation the Thing shuddered throughout its huge bulk, the Gump gave the screeching cry that is familiar to those animals, and then the four wings began flopping furiously.

Tip managed to grasp a chimney, else he would have been blown off the roof by the terrible breeze raised by the wings. The Scarecrow, being light in weight, was caught up bodily and borne through the air until Tip luckily seized him by one leg and held him fast. The Woggle-Bug lay flat upon the roof and so escaped harm, and the Tin Woodman, whose weight of tin anchored him firmly, threw both arms around Jack Pumpkinhead and managed to save him. The Saw-Horse toppled over upon his back and lay with his legs waving helplessly above him.

And now, while all were struggling to recover themselves, the Thing rose slowly from the roof and mounted into the air.

“Here! Come back!” cried Tip, in a frightened voice, as he clung to the chimney with one hand and the Scarecrow with the other. “Come back at once, I command you!”

It was now that the wisdom of the Scarecrow, in bringing the head of the Thing to life instead of the legs, was proved beyond a doubt. For the Gump, already high in the air, turned its head at Tip’s command and gradually circled around until it could view the roof of the palace.

“Come back!” shouted the boy, again.

And the Gump obeyed, slowly and gracefully waving its four wings in the air until the Thing had settled once more upon the roof and become still.

In the Jackdaws’ Nest

“This,” said the Gump, in a squeaky voice not at all proportioned to the size of its great body, “is the most novel experience I ever heard of. The last thing I remember distinctly is walking through the forest and hearing a loud noise. Something probably killed me then, and it certainly ought to have been the end of me. Yet here I am, alive again, with four monstrous wings and a body which I venture to say would make any respectable animal or fowl weep with shame to own. What does it all mean? Am I a Gump, or am I a juggernaut?” The creature, as it spoke, wiggled its chin whiskers in a very comical manner.

“You’re just a Thing,” answered Tip, “with a Gump’s head on it. And we have made you and brought you to life so that you may carry us through the air wherever we wish to go.”

“Very good!” said the Thing. “As I am not a Gump, I cannot have a Gump’s pride or independent spirit. So I may as well become your servant as anything else. My only satisfaction is that I do not seem to have a very strong constitution, and am not likely to live long in a state of slavery.”

“Don’t say that, I beg of you!” cried the Tin Woodman, whose excellent heart was strongly affected by this sad speech. “Are you not feeling well today?”

“Oh, as for that,” returned the Gump, “it is my first day of existence; so I cannot judge whether I am feeling well or ill.” And it waved its broom tail to and fro in a pensive manner.

“Come, come!” said the Scarecrow, kindly; “do try to be more cheerful and take life as you find it. We shall be kind masters, and will strive to render your existence as pleasant as possible. Are you willing to carry us through the air wherever we wish to go?”

“Certainly,” answered the Gump. “I greatly prefer to navigate the air. For should I travel on the earth and meet with one of my own species, my embarrassment would be something awful!”

“I can appreciate that,” said the Tin Woodman, sympathetically.

“And yet,” continued the Thing, “when I carefully look you over, my masters, none of you seems to be constructed much more artistically than I am.”

“Appearances are deceitful,” said the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. “I am both Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated.”

“Indeed!” murmured the Gump, indifferently.

“And my brains are considered remarkably rare specimens,” added the Scarecrow, proudly.

“How strange!” remarked the Gump.

“Although I am of tin,” said the Woodman, “I own a heart altogether the warmest and most admirable in the whole world.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” replied the Gump, with a slight cough.

“My smile,” said Jack Pumpkinhead, “is worthy your best attention. It is always the same.”

“Semper idem,” explained the Woggle-Bug, pompously; and the Gump turned to stare at him.

“And I,” declared the Saw-Horse, filling in an awkward pause, “am only remarkable because I can’t help it.”

“I am proud, indeed, to meet with such exceptional masters,” said the Gump, in a careless tone. “If I could but secure so complete an introduction to myself, I would be more than satisfied.”

“That will come in time,” remarked the Scarecrow. “To ‘Know Thyself’ is considered quite an accomplishment, which it has taken us, who are your elders, months to perfect. But now,” he added, turning to the others, “let us get aboard and start upon our journey.”

“Where shall we go?” asked Tip, as he clambered to a seat on the sofas and assisted the Pumpkinhead to follow him.

“In the South Country rules a very delightful Queen called Glinda the Good, who I am sure will gladly receive us,” said the Scarecrow, getting into the Thing clumsily. “Let us go to her and ask her advice.”

“That is cleverly thought of,” declared Nick Chopper, giving the Woggle-Bug a boost and then toppling the Saw-Horse into the rear end of the cushioned seats. “I know Glinda the Good, and believe she will prove a friend indeed.”

“Are we all ready?” asked the boy.

“Yes,” announced the Tin Woodman, seating himself beside the Scarecrow.

“Then,” said Tip, addressing the Gump, “be kind enough to fly with us to the Southward; and do not go higher than to escape the houses and trees, for it makes me dizzy to be up so far.”

“All right,” answered the Gump, briefly.

It flopped its four huge wings and rose slowly into the air; and then, while our little band of adventurers clung to the backs and sides of the sofas for support, the Gump turned toward the South and soared swiftly and majestically away.

“The scenic effect, from this altitude, is marvelous,” commented the educated Woggle-Bug, as they rode along.

“Never mind the scenery,” said the Scarecrow. “Hold on tight, or you may get a tumble. The Thing seems to rock badly.”

“It will be dark soon,” said Tip, observing that the sun was low on the horizon. “Perhaps we should have waited until morning. I wonder if the Gump can fly in the night.”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” returned the Gump, quietly. “You see, this is a new experience to me. I used to have legs that carried me swiftly over the ground. But now my legs feel as if they were asleep.”

“They are,” said Tip. “We didn’t bring ’em to life.”

“You’re expected to fly,” explained the Scarecrow; “not to walk.”

“We can walk ourselves,” said the Woggle-Bug.

“I begin to understand what is required of me,” remarked the Gump; “so I will do my best to please you,” and he flew on for a time in silence.

Presently Jack Pumpkinhead became uneasy.

“I wonder if riding through the air is liable to spoil pumpkins,” he said.

“Not unless you carelessly drop your head over the side,” answered the Woggle-Bug. “In that event your head would no longer be a pumpkin, for it would become a squash.”

“Have I not asked you to restrain these unfeeling jokes?” demanded Tip, looking at the Woggle-Bug with a severe expression.

“You have; and I’ve restrained a good many of them,” replied the insect. “But there are opportunities for so many excellent puns in our language that, to an educated person like myself, the temptation to express them is almost irresistible.”

“People with more or less education discovered those puns centuries ago,” said Tip.

“Are you sure?” asked the Woggle-Bug, with a startled look.

“Of course I am,” answered the boy. “An educated Woggle-Bug may be a new thing; but a Woggle-Bug education is as old as the hills, judging from the display you make of it.”

The insect seemed much impressed by this remark, and for a time maintained a meek silence.

The Scarecrow, in shifting his seat, saw upon the cushions the pepper-box which Tip had cast aside, and began to examine it.

“Throw it overboard,” said the boy; “it’s quite empty now, and there’s no use keeping it.”

“Is it really empty?” asked the Scarecrow, looking curiously into the box.

“Of course it is,” answered Tip. “I shook out every grain of the powder.”

“Then the box has two bottoms,” announced the Scarecrow; “for the bottom on the inside is fully an inch away from the bottom on the outside.”

“Let me see,” said the Tin Woodman, taking the box from his friend. “Yes,” he declared, after looking it over, “the thing certainly has a false bottom. Now, I wonder what that is for?”

“Can’t you get it apart, and find out?” enquired Tip, now quite interested in the mystery.

“Why, yes; the lower bottom unscrews,” said the Tin Woodman. “My fingers are rather stiff; please see if you can open it.”

He handed the pepper-box to Tip, who had no difficulty in unscrewing the bottom. And in the cavity below were three silver pills, with a carefully folded paper lying underneath them.

This paper the boy proceeded to unfold, taking care not to spill the pills, and found several lines clearly written in red ink.

“Read it aloud,” said the Scarecrow; so Tip read as follows:

“DR. NIKIDIK’S CELEBRATED WISHING PILLS.

“Directions for Use: Swallow one pill; count seventeen by twos; then make a Wish.—The Wish will immediately be granted.

“CAUTION:
Keep in a Dry and Dark Place.”

“Why, this is a very valuable discovery!” cried the Scarecrow.

“It is, indeed,” replied Tip, gravely. “These pills may be of great use to us. I wonder if old Mombi knew they were in the bottom of the pepper-box. I remember hearing her say that she got the Powder of Life from this same Nikidik.”

“He must be a powerful Sorcerer!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “and since the powder proved a success we ought to have confidence in the pills.”

“But how,” asked the Scarecrow, “can anyone count seventeen by twos? Seventeen is an odd number.

“That is true,” replied Tip, greatly disappointed. “No one can possibly count seventeen by twos.”

“Then the pills are of no use to us,” wailed the Pumpkinhead; “and this fact overwhelms me with grief. For I had intended wishing that my head would never spoil.”

“Nonsense!” said the Scarecrow, sharply. “If we could use the pills at all we would make far better wishes than that.”

“I do not see how anything could be better,” protested poor Jack. “If you were liable to spoil at any time you could understand my anxiety.”

“For my part,” said the Tin Woodman, “I sympathize with you in every respect. But since we cannot count seventeen by twos, sympathy is all you are liable to get.”

By this time it had become quite dark, and the voyagers found above them a cloudy sky, through which the rays of the moon could not penetrate.

The Gump flew steadily on, and for some reason the huge sofa-body rocked more and more dizzily every hour.

The Woggle-Bug declared he was sea-sick; and Tip was also pale and somewhat distressed. But the others clung to the backs of the sofas and did not seem to mind the motion as long as they were not tipped out.

Darker and darker grew the night, and on and on sped the Gump through the black heavens. The travelers could not even see one another, and an oppressive silence settled down upon them.

After a long time Tip, who had been thinking deeply, spoke.

“How are we to know when we come to the palace of Glinda the Good?” he asked.

“It’s a long way to Glinda’s palace,” answered the Woodman; “I’ve traveled it.”

“But how are we to know how fast the Gump is flying?” persisted the boy. “We cannot see a single thing down on the earth, and before morning we may be far beyond the place we want to reach.”

“That is all true enough,” the Scarecrow replied, a little uneasily. “But I do not see how we can stop just now; for we might alight in a river, or on the top of a steeple; and that would be a great disaster.”

So they permitted the Gump to fly on, with regular flops of its great wings, and waited patiently for morning.

Then Tip’s fears were proven to be well founded; for with the first streaks of gray dawn they looked over the sides of the sofas and discovered rolling plains dotted with queer villages, where the houses, instead of being dome-shaped—as they all are in the Land of Oz—had slanting roofs that rose to a peak in the center. Odd looking animals were also moving about upon the open plains, and the country was unfamiliar to both the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, who had formerly visited Glinda the Good’s domain and knew it well.

“We are lost!” said the Scarecrow, dolefully. “The Gump must have carried us entirely out of the Land of Oz and over the sandy deserts and into the terrible outside world that Dorothy told us about.”

“We must get back,” exclaimed the Tin Woodman, earnestly; “we must get back as soon as possible!”

“Turn around!” cried Tip to the Gump; “turn as quickly as you can!”

“If I do I shall upset,” answered the Gump. “I’m not at all used to flying, and the best plan would be for me to alight in some place, and then I can turn around and take a fresh start.”

Just then, however, there seemed to be no stopping-place that would answer their purpose. They flew over a village so big that the Woggle-Bug declared it was a city; and then they came to a range of high mountains with many deep gorges and steep cliffs showing plainly.

“Now is our chance to stop,” said the boy, finding they were very close to the mountain tops. Then he turned to the Gump and commanded: “Stop at the first level place you see!”

“Very well,” answered the Gump, and settled down upon a table of rock that stood between two cliffs.

But not being experienced in such matters, the Gump did not judge his speed correctly; and instead of coming to a stop upon the flat rock he missed it by half the width of his body, breaking off both his right wings against the sharp edge of the rock and then tumbling over and over down the cliff.

Our friends held on to the sofas as long as they could, but when the Gump caught on a projecting rock the Thing stopped suddenly—bottom side up—and all were immediately dumped out.

By good fortune they fell only a few feet; for underneath them was a monster nest, built by a colony of Jackdaws in a hollow ledge of rock; so none of them—not even the Pumpkinhead—was injured by the fall. For Jack found his precious head resting on the soft breast of the Scarecrow, which made an excellent cushion; and Tip fell on a mass of leaves and papers, which saved him from injury. The Woggle-Bug had bumped his round head against the Saw-Horse, but without causing him more than a moment’s inconvenience.

The Tin Woodman was at first much alarmed; but finding he had escaped without even a scratch upon his beautiful nickel-plate he at once regained his accustomed cheerfulness and turned to address his comrades.

“Our journey has ended rather suddenly,” said he, “and we cannot justly blame our friend the Gump for our accident, because he did the best he could under the circumstances. But how we are ever to escape from this nest I must leave to someone with better brains than I possess.”

Here he gazed at the Scarecrow; who crawled to the edge of the nest and looked over. Below them was a sheer precipice several hundred feet in depth. Above them was a smooth cliff unbroken save by the point of rock where the wrecked body of the Gump still hung suspended from the end of one of the sofas. There really seemed to be no means of escape, and as they realized their helpless plight the little band of adventurers gave way to their bewilderment.

“This is a worse prison than the palace,” sadly remarked the Woggle-Bug.

“I wish we had stayed there,” moaned Jack. “I’m afraid the mountain air isn’t good for pumpkins.”

“It won’t be when the Jackdaws come back,” growled the Saw-Horse, which lay waving its legs in a vain endeavor to get upon its feet again. “Jackdaws are especially fond of pumpkins.”

“Do you think the birds will come here?” asked Jack, much distressed.

“Of course they will,” said Tip; “for this is their nest. And there must be hundreds of them,” he continued, “for see what a lot of things they have brought here!”

Indeed, the nest was half filled with a most curious collection of small articles for which the birds could have no use, but which the thieving Jackdaws had stolen during many years from the homes of men. And as the nest was safely hidden where no human being could reach it, this lost property would never be recovered.

The Woggle-Bug, searching among the rubbish—for the Jackdaws stole useless things as well as valuable ones—turned up with his foot a beautiful diamond necklace. This was so greatly admired by the Tin Woodman that the Woggle-Bug presented it to him with a graceful speech, after which the Woodman hung it around his neck with much pride, rejoicing exceedingly when the big diamonds glittered in the sun’s rays.

But now they heard a great jabbering and flopping of wings, and as the sound grew nearer to them Tip exclaimed:

“The Jackdaws are coming! And if they find us here they will surely kill us in their anger.”

“I was afraid of this!” moaned the Pumpkinhead. “My time has come!”

“And mine, also!” said the Woggle-Bug; “for Jackdaws are the greatest enemies of my race.”

The others were not at all afraid; but the Scarecrow at once decided to save those of the party who were liable to be injured by the angry birds. So he commanded Tip to take off Jack’s head and lie down with it in the bottom of the nest, and when this was done he ordered the Woggle-Bug to lie beside Tip. Nick Chopper, who knew from past experience just what to do, then took the Scarecrow to pieces—(all except his head)—and scattered the straw over Tip and the Woggle-Bug, completely covering their bodies.

Hardly had this been accomplished when the flock of Jackdaws reached them. Perceiving the intruders in their nest the birds flew down upon them with screams of rage.

Dr. Nikidik’s Famous Wishing Pills

The Tin Woodman was usually a peaceful man, but when occasion required he could fight as fiercely as a Roman gladiator. So, when the Jackdaws nearly knocked him down in their rush of wings, and their sharp beaks and claws threatened to damage his brilliant plating, the Woodman picked up his axe and made it whirl swiftly around his head.

But although many were beaten off in this way, the birds were so numerous and so brave that they continued the attack as furiously as before. Some of them pecked at the eyes of the Gump, which hung over the nest in a helpless condition; but the Gump’s eyes were of glass and could not be injured. Others of the Jackdaws rushed at the Saw-Horse; but that animal, being still upon his back, kicked out so viciously with his wooden legs that he beat off as many assailants as did the Woodman’s axe.

Finding themselves thus opposed, the birds fell upon the Scarecrow’s straw, which lay at the center of the nest, covering Tip and the Woggle-Bug and Jack’s pumpkin head, and began tearing it away and flying off with it, only to let it drop, straw by straw into the great gulf beneath.

The Scarecrow’s head, noting with dismay this wanton destruction of his interior, cried to the Tin Woodman to save him; and that good friend responded with renewed energy. His axe fairly flashed among the Jackdaws, and fortunately the Gump began wildly waving the two wings remaining on the left side of its body. The flutter of these great wings filled the Jackdaws with terror, and when the Gump by its exertions freed itself from the peg of rock on which it hung, and sank flopping into the nest, the alarm of the birds knew no bounds and they fled screaming over the mountains.

When the last foe had disappeared, Tip crawled from under the sofas and assisted the Woggle-Bug to follow him.

“We are saved!” shouted the boy, delightedly.

“We are, indeed!” responded the Educated Insect, fairly hugging the stiff head of the Gump in his joy; “and we owe it all to the flopping of the Thing and the good axe of the Woodman!”

“If I am saved, get me out of here!” called Jack, whose head was still beneath the sofas; and Tip managed to roll the pumpkin out and place it upon its neck again. He also set the Saw-Horse upright, and said to it:

“We owe you many thanks for the gallant fight you made.”

“I really think we have escaped very nicely,” remarked the Tin Woodman, in a tone of pride.

“Not so!” exclaimed a hollow voice.

At this they all turned in surprise to look at the Scarecrow’s head, which lay at the back of the nest.

“I am completely ruined!” declared the Scarecrow, as he noted their astonishment. “For where is the straw that stuffs my body?”

The awful question startled them all. They gazed around the nest with horror, for not a vestige of straw remained. The Jackdaws had stolen it to the last wisp and flung it all into the chasm that yawned for hundreds of feet beneath the nest.

“My poor, poor friend!” said the Tin Woodman, taking up the Scarecrow’s head and caressing it tenderly; “whoever could imagine you would come to this untimely end?”

“I did it to save my friends,” returned the head; “and I am glad that I perished in so noble and unselfish a manner.”

“But why are you all so despondent?” inquired the Woggle-Bug. “The Scarecrow’s clothing is still safe.”

“Yes,” answered the Tin Woodman; “but our friend’s clothes are useless without stuffing.”

“Why not stuff him with money?” asked Tip.

“Money!” they all cried, in an amazed chorus.

“To be sure,” said the boy. “In the bottom of the nest are thousands of dollar bills—and two-dollar bills—and five-dollar bills—and tens, and twenties, and fifties. There are enough of them to stuff a dozen Scarecrows. Why not use the money?”

The Tin Woodman began to turn over the rubbish with the handle of his axe; and, sure enough, what they had first thought only worthless papers were found to be all bills of various denominations, which the mischievous Jackdaws had for years been engaged in stealing from the villages and cities they visited.

There was an immense fortune lying in that inaccessible nest; and Tip’s suggestion was, with the Scarecrow’s consent, quickly acted upon.

They selected all the newest and cleanest bills and sorted them into various piles. The Scarecrow’s left leg boot were stuffed with five-dollar bills; his right leg was stuffed with ten-dollar bills, and his body so closely filled with fifties, one-hundreds and one-thousands that he could scarcely button his jacket with comfort.

“You are now,” said the Woggle-Bug, impressively, when the task had been completed, “the most valuable member of our party; and as you are among faithful friends there is little danger of your being spent.”

“Thank you,” returned the Scarecrow, gratefully. “I feel like a new man; and although at first glance I might be mistaken for a Safety Deposit Vault, I beg you to remember that my Brains are still composed of the same old material. And these are the possessions that have always made me a person to be depended upon in an emergency.”

“Well, the emergency is here,” observed Tip; “and unless your brains help us out of it we shall be compelled to pass the remainder of our lives in this nest.”

“How about these wishing pills?” enquired the Scarecrow, taking the box from his jacket pocket. “Can’t we use them to escape?”

“Not unless we can count seventeen by twos,” answered the Tin Woodman. “But our friend the Woggle-Bug claims to be highly educated, so he ought easily to figure out how that can be done.”

“It isn’t a question of education,” returned the Insect; “it’s merely a question of mathematics. I’ve seen the Professor work lots of sums on the black-board, and he claimed anything could be done with x’s and y’s and a’s, and such things, by mixing them up with plenty of plusses and minuses and equals, and so forth. But he never said anything, so far as I can remember, about counting up to the odd number of seventeen by the even numbers of twos.”

“Stop! stop!” cried the Pumpkinhead. “You’re making my head ache.”

“And mine,” added the Scarecrow. “Your mathematics seem to me very like a bottle of mixed pickles—the more you fish for what you want the less chance you have of getting it. I am certain that if the thing can be accomplished at all, it is in a very simple manner.”

“Yes,” said Tip; “old Mombi couldn’t use x’s and minuses, for she never went to school.”

“Why not start counting at a half of one?” asked the Saw-Horse, abruptly. “Then anyone can count up to seventeen by twos very easily.”

They looked at each other in surprise, for the Saw-Horse was considered the most stupid of the entire party.

“You make me quite ashamed of myself,” said the Scarecrow, bowing low to the Saw-Horse.

“Nevertheless, the creature is right,” declared the Woggle-Bug; “for twice one-half is one, and if you get to one it is easy to count from one up to seventeen by twos.”

“I wonder I didn’t think of that myself,” said the Pumpkinhead.

“I don’t,” returned the Scarecrow. “You’re no wiser than the rest of us, are you? But let us make a wish at once. Who will swallow the first pill?”

“Suppose you do it,” suggested Tip.

“I can’t,” said the Scarecrow.

“Why not? You’ve a mouth, haven’t you?” asked the boy.

“Yes; but my mouth is painted on, and there’s no swallow connected with it,” answered the Scarecrow. “In fact,” he continued, looking from one to another critically, “I believe the boy and the Woggle-Bug are the only ones in our party that are able to swallow.”

Observing the truth of this remark, Tip said:

“Then I will undertake to make the first wish. Give me one of the Silver Pills.”

This the Scarecrow tried to do; but his padded gloves were too clumsy to clutch so small an object, and he held the box toward the boy while Tip selected one of the pills and swallowed it.

“Count!” cried the Scarecrow.

“One-half, one, three, five, seven, nine, eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen!” counted Tip.

“Now wish!” said the Tin Woodman anxiously.

But just then the boy began to suffer such fearful pains that he became alarmed.

“The pill has poisoned me!” he gasped; “O—h! O-o-o-o-o! Ouch! Murder! Fire! O-o-h!” and here he rolled upon the bottom of the nest in such contortions that he frightened them all.

“What can we do for you? Speak, I beg!” entreated the Tin Woodman, tears of sympathy running down his nickel cheeks.

“I—I don’t know!” answered Tip. “O—h! I wish I’d never swallowed that pill!”

Then at once the pain stopped, and the boy rose to his feet again and found the Scarecrow looking with amazement at the end of the pepper-box.

“What’s happened?” asked the boy, a little ashamed of his recent exhibition.

“Why, the three pills are in the box again!” said the Scarecrow.

“Of course they are,” the Woggle-Bug declared. “Didn’t Tip wish that he’d never swallowed one of them? Well, the wish came true, and he didn’t swallow one of them. So of course they are all three in the box.”

“That may be; but the pill gave me a dreadful pain, just the same,” said the boy.

“Impossible!” declared the Woggle- Bug. “If you have never swallowed it, the pill can not have given you a pain. And as your wish, being granted, proves you did not swallow the pill, it is also plain that you suffered no pain.”

“Then it was a splendid imitation of a pain,” retorted Tip, angrily. “Suppose you try the next pill yourself. We’ve wasted one wish already.”

“Oh, no, we haven’t!” protested the Scarecrow. “Here are still three pills in the box, and each pill is good for a wish.”

“Now you’re making my head ache,” said Tip. “I can’t understand the thing at all. But I won’t take another pill, I promise you!” and with this remark he retired sulkily to the back of the nest.

“Well,” said the Woggle-Bug, “it remains for me to save us in my most Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated manner; for I seem to be the only one able and willing to make a wish. Let me have one of the pills.”

He swallowed it without hesitation, and they all stood admiring his courage while the Insect counted seventeen by twos in the same way that Tip had done. And for some reason—perhaps because Woggle-Bugs have stronger stomachs than boys—the silver pellet caused it no pain whatever.

“I wish the Gump’s broken wings mended, and as good as new!” said the Woggle-Bug, in a slow, impressive voice.

All turned to look at the Thing, and so quickly had the wish been granted that the Gump lay before them in perfect repair, and as well able to fly through the air as when it had first been brought to life on the roof of the palace.

The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda

“Hooray!” shouted the Scarecrow, gaily. “We can now leave this miserable Jackdaws’ nest whenever we please.”

“But it is nearly dark,” said the Tin Woodman; “and unless we wait until morning to make our flight we may get into more trouble. I don’t like these night trips, for one never knows what will happen.”

So it was decided to wait until daylight, and the adventurers amused themselves in the twilight by searching the Jackdaws’ nest for treasures.

The Woggle-Bug found two handsome bracelets of wrought gold, which fitted his slender arms very well. The Scarecrow took a fancy for rings, of which there were many in the nest. Before long he had fitted a ring to each finger of his padded gloves, and not being content with that display he added one more to each thumb. As he carefully chose those rings set with sparkling stones, such as rubies, amethysts and sapphires, the Scarecrow’s hands now presented a most brilliant appearance.

“This nest would be a picnic for Queen Jinjur,” said he, musingly; “for as nearly as I can make out she and her girls conquered me merely to rob my city of its emeralds.”

The Tin Woodman was content with his diamond necklace and refused to accept any additional decorations; but Tip secured a fine gold watch, which was attached to a heavy fob, and placed it in his pocket with much pride. He also pinned several jeweled brooches to Jack Pumpkinhead’s red waistcoat, and attached a lorgnette, by means of a fine chain, to the neck of the Saw-Horse.

“It’s very pretty,” said the creature, regarding the lorgnette approvingly; “but what is it for?”

None of them could answer that question, however; so the Saw-Horse decided it was some rare decoration and became very fond of it.

That none of the party might be slighted, they ended by placing several large seal rings upon the points of the Gump’s antlers, although that odd personage seemed by no means gratified by the attention.

Darkness soon fell upon them, and Tip and the Woggle-Bug went to sleep while the others sat down to wait patiently for the day.

Next morning they had cause to congratulate themselves upon the useful condition of the Gump; for with daylight a great flock of Jackdaws approached to engage in one more battle for the possession of the nest.

But our adventurers did not wait for the assault. They tumbled into the cushioned seats of the sofas as quickly as possible, and Tip gave the word to the Gump to start.

At once it rose into the air, the great wings flopping strongly and with regular motions, and in a few moments they were so far from the nest that the chattering Jackdaws took possession without any attempt at pursuit.

The Thing flew due North, going in the same direction from whence it had come. At least, that was the Scarecrow’s opinion, and the others agreed that the Scarecrow was the best judge of direction. After passing over several cities and villages the Gump carried them high above a broad plain where houses became more and more scattered until they disappeared altogether. Next came the wide, sandy desert separating the rest of the world from the Land of Oz, and before noon they saw the dome-shaped houses that proved they were once more within the borders of their native land.

“But the houses and fences are blue,” said the Tin Woodman, “and that indicates we are in the land of the Munchkins, and therefore a long distance from Glinda the Good.”

“What shall we do?” asked the boy, turning to their guide.

“I don’t know,” replied the Scarecrow, frankly. “If we were at the Emerald City we could then move directly southward, and so reach our destination. But we dare not go to the Emerald City, and the Gump is probably carrying us further in the wrong direction with every flop of its wings.”

“Then the Woggle-Bug must swallow another pill,” said Tip, decidedly, “and wish us headed in the right direction.”

“Very well,” returned the Highly Magnified one; “I’m willing.”

But when the Scarecrow searched in his pocket for the pepper-box containing the two silver Wishing Pills, it was not to be found. Filled with anxiety, the voyagers hunted throughout every inch of the Thing for the precious box; but it had disappeared entirely.

And still the Gump flew onward, carrying them they knew not where.

“I must have left the pepper-box in the Jackdaws’ nest,” said the Scarecrow, at length.

“It is a great misfortune,” the Tin Woodman declared. “But we are no worse off than before we discovered the Wishing Pills.”

“We are better off,” replied Tip; “for the one pill we used has enabled us to escape from that horrible nest.”

“Yet the loss of the other two is serious, and I deserve a good scolding for my carelessness,” the Scarecrow rejoined, penitently. “For in such an unusual party as this accidents are liable to happen any moment, and even now we may be approaching a new danger.”

No one dared contradict this, and a dismal silence ensued.

The Gump flew steadily on.

Suddenly Tip uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“We must have reached the South Country,” he cried, “for below us everything is red!”

Immediately they all leaned over the backs of the sofas to look—all except Jack, who was too careful of his pumpkin head to risk its slipping off his neck. Sure enough; the red houses and fences and trees indicated they were within the domain of Glinda the Good; and presently, as they glided rapidly on, the Tin Woodman recognized the roads and buildings they passed, and altered slightly the flight of the Gump so that they might reach the palace of the celebrated Sorceress.

“Good!” cried the Scarecrow, delightedly. “We do not need the lost Wishing Pills now, for we have arrived at our destination.”

Gradually the Thing sank lower and nearer to the ground until at length it came to rest within the beautiful gardens of Glinda, settling upon a velvety green lawn close by a fountain which sent sprays of flashing gems, instead of water, high into the air, whence they fell with a soft, tinkling sound into the carved marble basin placed to receive them.

Everything was very gorgeous in Glinda’s gardens, and while our voyagers gazed about with admiring eyes a company of soldiers silently appeared and surrounded them. But these soldiers of the great Sorceress were entirely different from those of Jinjur’s Army of Revolt, although they were likewise girls. For Glinda’s soldiers wore neat uniforms and bore swords and spears; and they marched with a skill and precision that proved them well trained in the arts of war.

The Captain commanding this troop—which was Glinda’s private Body Guard—recognized the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman at once, and greeted them with respectful salutations.

“Good day!” said the Scarecrow, gallantly removing his hat, while the Woodman gave a soldierly salute; “we have come to request an audience with your fair Ruler.”

“Glinda is now within her palace, awaiting you,” returned the Captain; “for she saw you coming long before you arrived.”

“That is strange!” said Tip, wondering.

“Not at all,” answered the Scarecrow; “for Glinda the Good is a mighty Sorceress, and nothing that goes on in the Land of Oz escapes her notice. I suppose she knows why we came as well as we do ourselves.”

“Then what was the use of our coming?” asked Jack, stupidly.

“To prove you are a Pumpkinhead!” retorted the Scarecrow. “But, if the Sorceress expects us, we must not keep her waiting.”

So they all clambered out of the sofas and followed the Captain toward the palace—even the Saw-Horse taking his place in the queer procession.

Upon her throne of finely wrought gold sat Glinda, and she could scarcely repress a smile as her peculiar visitors entered and bowed before her. Both the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman she knew and liked; but the awkward Pumpkinhead and Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug were creatures she had never seen before, and they seemed even more curious than the others. As for the Saw-Horse, he looked to be nothing more than an animated chunk of wood; and he bowed so stiffly that his head bumped against the floor, causing a ripple of laughter among the soldiers, in which Glinda frankly joined.

“I beg to announce to your glorious highness,” began the Scarecrow, in a solemn voice, “that my Emerald City has been overrun by a crowd of impudent girls with knitting-needles, who have enslaved all the men, robbed the streets and public buildings of all their emerald jewels, and usurped my throne.”

“I know it,” said Glinda.

“They also threatened to destroy me, as well as all the good friends and allies you see before you,” continued the Scarecrow; “and had we not managed to escape their clutches our days would long since have ended.”

“I know it,” repeated Glinda.

“Therefore I have come to beg your assistance,” resumed the Scarecrow, “for I believe you are always glad to succor the unfortunate and oppressed.”

“That is true,” replied the Sorceress, slowly. “But the Emerald City is now ruled by General Jinjur, who has caused herself to be proclaimed Queen. What right have I to oppose her?”

“Why, she stole the throne from me,” said the Scarecrow.

“And how came you to possess the throne?” asked Glinda.

“I got it from the Wizard of Oz, and by the choice of the people,” returned the Scarecrow, uneasy at such questioning.

“And where did the Wizard get it?” she continued, gravely.

“I am told he took it from Pastoria, the former King,” said the Scarecrow, becoming confused under the intent look of the Sorceress.

“Then,” declared Glinda, “the throne of the Emerald City belongs neither to you nor to Jinjur, but to this Pastoria from whom the Wizard usurped it.”

“That is true,” acknowledged the Scarecrow, humbly; “but Pastoria is now dead and gone, and someone must rule in his place.”

“Pastoria had a daughter, who is the rightful heir to the throne of the Emerald City. Did you know that?” questioned the Sorceress.

“No,” replied the Scarecrow. “But if the girl still lives I will not stand in her way. It will satisfy me as well to have Jinjur turned out, as an impostor, as to regain the throne myself. In fact, it isn’t much fun to be King, especially if one has good brains. I have known for some time that I am fitted to occupy a far more exalted position. But where is this girl who owns the throne, and what is her name?”

“Her name is Ozma,” answered Glinda. “But where she is I have tried in vain to discover. For the Wizard of Oz, when he stole the throne from Ozma’s father, hid the girl in some secret place; and by means of a magical trick with which I am not familiar he also managed to prevent her being discovered—even by so experienced a Sorceress as myself.”

“That is strange,” interrupted the Woggle-Bug, pompously. “I have been informed that the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was nothing more than a humbug!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, much provoked by this speech. “Didn’t he give me a wonderful set of brains?”

“There’s no humbug about my heart,” announced the Tin Woodman, glaring indignantly at the Woggle-Bug.

“Perhaps I was misinformed,” stammered the Insect, shrinking back; “I never knew the Wizard personally.”

“Well, we did,” retorted the Scarecrow, “and he was a very great Wizard, I assure you. It is true he was guilty of some slight impostures, but unless he was a great Wizard how—let me ask—could he have hidden this girl Ozma so securely that no one can find her?”

“I—I give it up!” replied the Woggle-Bug, meekly.

“That is the most sensible speech you’ve made,” said the Tin Woodman.

“I must really make another effort to discover where this girl is hidden,” resumed the Sorceress, thoughtfully. “I have in my library a book in which is inscribed every action of the Wizard while he was in our land of Oz—or, at least, every action that could be observed by my spies. This book I will read carefully tonight, and try to single out the acts that may guide us in discovering the lost Ozma. In the meantime, pray amuse yourselves in my palace and command my servants as if they were your own. I will grant you another audience tomorrow.”

With this gracious speech Glinda dismissed the adventurers, and they wandered away through the beautiful gardens, where they passed several hours enjoying all the delightful things with which the Queen of the Southland had surrounded her royal palace.

On the following morning they again appeared before Glinda, who said to them:

“I have searched carefully through the records of the Wizard’s actions, and among them I can find but three that appear to have been suspicious. He ate beans with a knife, made three secret visits to old Mombi, and limped slightly on his left foot.”

“Ah! that last is certainly suspicious!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead.

“Not necessarily,” said the Scarecrow; “he may have had corns. Now, it seems to me his eating beans with a knife is more suspicious.”

“Perhaps it is a polite custom in Omaha, from which great country the Wizard originally came,” suggested the Tin Woodman.

“It may be,” admitted the Scarecrow.

“But why,” asked Glinda, “did he make three secret visits to old Mombi?”

“Ah! Why, indeed!” echoed the Woggle-Bug, impressively.

“We know that the Wizard taught the old woman many of his tricks of magic,” continued Glinda; “and this he would not have done had she not assisted him in some way. So we may suspect with good reason that Mombi aided him to hide the girl Ozma, who was the real heir to the throne of the Emerald City, and a constant danger to the usurper. For, if the people knew that she lived, they would quickly make her their Queen and restore her to her rightful position.”

“An able argument!” cried the Scarecrow. “I have no doubt that Mombi was mixed up in this wicked business. But how does that knowledge help us?”

“We must find Mombi,” replied Glinda, “and force her to tell where the girl is hidden.”

“Mombi is now with Queen Jinjur, in the Emerald City,” said Tip. “It was she who threw so many obstacles in our pathway, and made Jinjur threaten to destroy my friends and give me back into the old witch’s power.”

“Then,” decided Glinda, “I will march with my army to the Emerald City, and take Mombi prisoner. After that we can, perhaps, force her to tell the truth about Ozma.”

“She is a terrible old woman!” remarked Tip, with a shudder at the thought of Mombi’s black kettle; “and obstinate, too.”

“I am quite obstinate myself,” returned the Sorceress, with a sweet smile; “so I do not fear Mombi in the least. Today I will make all necessary preparations, and we will march upon the Emerald City at daybreak tomorrow.”

The Tin Woodman Plucks a Rose

The Army of Glinda the Good looked very grand and imposing when it assembled at daybreak before the palace gates. The uniforms of the girl soldiers were pretty and of gay colors, and their silver-tipped spears were bright and glistening, the long shafts being inlaid with mother-of-pearl. All the officers wore sharp, gleaming swords, and shields edged with peacock-feathers; and it really seemed that no foe could by any possibility defeat such a brilliant army.

The Sorceress rode in a beautiful palanquin which was like the body of a coach, having doors and windows with silken curtains; but instead of wheels, which a coach has, the palanquin rested upon two long, horizontal bars, which were borne upon the shoulders of twelve servants.

The Scarecrow and his comrades decided to ride in the Gump, in order to keep up with the swift march of the army; so, as soon as Glinda had started and her soldiers had marched away to the inspiring strains of music played by the royal band, our friends climbed into the sofas and followed. The Gump flew along slowly at a point directly over the palanquin in which rode the Sorceress.

“Be careful,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, who was leaning far over the side to look at the army below. “You might fall.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” remarked the educated Woggle-Bug; “he can’t get broke so long as he is stuffed with money.”

“Didn’t I ask you—” began Tip, in a reproachful voice.

“You did!” said the Woggle-Bug, promptly. “And I beg your pardon. I will really try to restrain myself.”

“You’d better,” declared the boy. “That is, if you wish to travel in our company.”

“Ah! I couldn’t bear to part with you now,” murmured the Insect, feelingly; so Tip let the subject drop.

The army moved steadily on, but night had fallen before they came to the walls of the Emerald City. By the dim light of the new moon, however, Glinda’s forces silently surrounded the city and pitched their tents of scarlet silk upon the greensward. The tent of the Sorceress was larger than the others, and was composed of pure white silk, with scarlet banners flying above it. A tent was also pitched for the Scarecrow’s party; and when these preparations had been made, with military precision and quickness, the army retired to rest.

Great was the amazement of Queen Jinjur next morning when her soldiers came running to inform her of the vast army surrounding them. She at once climbed to a high tower of the royal palace and saw banners waving in every direction and the great white tent of Glinda standing directly before the gates.

“We are surely lost!” cried Jinjur, in despair; “for how can our knitting-needles avail against the long spears and terrible swords of our foes?”

“The best thing we can do,” said one of the girls, “is to surrender as quickly as possible, before we get hurt.”

“Not so,” returned Jinjur, more bravely. “The enemy is still outside the walls, so we must try to gain time by engaging them in parley. Go you with a flag of truce to Glinda and ask her why she has dared to invade my dominions, and what are her demands.”

So the girl passed through the gates, bearing a white flag to show she was on a mission of peace, and came to Glinda’s tent.

“Tell your Queen,” said the Sorceress to the girl, “that she must deliver up to me old Mombi, to be my prisoner. If this is done I will not molest her farther.”

Now when this message was delivered to the Queen it filled her with dismay, for Mombi was her chief counsellor, and Jinjur was terribly afraid of the old hag. But she sent for Mombi, and told her what Glinda had said.

“I see trouble ahead for all of us,” muttered the old witch, after glancing into a magic mirror she carried in her pocket. “But we may even yet escape by deceiving this sorceress, clever as she thinks herself.”

“Don’t you think it will be safer for me to deliver you into her hands?” asked Jinjur, nervously.

“If you do, it will cost you the throne of the Emerald City!” answered the witch, positively. “But, if you will let me have my own way, I can save us both very easily.”

“Then do as you please,” replied Jinjur, “for it is so aristocratic to be a Queen that I do not wish to be obliged to return home again, to make beds and wash dishes for my mother.”

So Mombi called Jellia Jamb to her, and performed a certain magical rite with which she was familiar. As a result of the enchantment Jellia took on the form and features of Mombi, while the old witch grew to resemble the girl so closely that it seemed impossible anyone could guess the deception.

“Now,” said old Mombi to the Queen, “let your soldiers deliver up this girl to Glinda. She will think she has the real Mombi in her power, and so will return immediately to her own country in the South.”

Therefore Jellia, hobbling along like an aged woman, was led from the city gates and taken before Glinda.

“Here is the person you demanded,” said one of the guards, “and our Queen now begs you will go away, as you promised, and leave us in peace.”

“That I will surely do,” replied Glinda, much pleased; “if this is really the person she seems to be.”

“It is certainly old Mombi,” said the guard, who believed she was speaking the truth; and then Jinjur’s soldiers returned within the city’s gates.

The Sorceress quickly summoned the Scarecrow and his friends to her tent, and began to question the supposed Mombi about the lost girl Ozma. But Jellia knew nothing at all of this affair, and presently she grew so nervous under the questioning that she gave way and began to weep, to Glinda’s great astonishment.

“Here is some foolish trickery!” said the Sorceress, her eyes flashing with anger. “This is not Mombi at all, but some other person who has been made to resemble her! Tell me,” she demanded, turning to the trembling girl, “what is your name?”

This Jellia dared not tell, having been threatened with death by the witch if she confessed the fraud. But Glinda, sweet and fair though she was, understood magic better than any other person in the Land of Oz. So, by uttering a few potent words and making a peculiar gesture, she quickly transformed the girl into her proper shape, while at the same time old Mombi, far away in Jinjur’s palace, suddenly resumed her own crooked form and evil features.

“Why, it’s Jellia Jamb!” cried the Scarecrow, recognizing in the girl one of his old friends.

“It’s our interpreter!” said the Pumpkinhead, smiling pleasantly.

Then Jellia was forced to tell of the trick Mombi had played, and she also begged Glinda’s protection, which the Sorceress readily granted. But Glinda was now really angry, and sent word to Jinjur that the fraud was discovered and she must deliver up the real Mombi or suffer terrible consequences. Jinjur was prepared for this message, for the witch well understood, when her natural form was thrust upon her, that Glinda had discovered her trickery. But the wicked old creature had already thought up a new deception, and had made Jinjur promise to carry it out. So the Queen said to Glinda’s messenger:

“Tell your mistress that I cannot find Mombi anywhere; but that Glinda is welcome to enter the city and search herself for the old woman. She may also bring her friends with her, if she likes; but if she does not find Mombi by sundown, the Sorceress must promise to go away peaceably and bother us no more.”

Glinda agreed to these terms, well knowing that Mombi was somewhere within the city walls. So Jinjur caused the gates to be thrown open, and Glinda marched in at the head of a company of soldiers, followed by the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, while Jack Pumpkinhead rode astride the Saw-Horse, and the Educated, Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug sauntered behind in a dignified manner. Tip walked by the side of the Sorceress, for Glinda had conceived a great liking for the boy.

Of course old Mombi had no intention of being found by Glinda; so, while her enemies were marching up the street, the witch transformed herself into a red rose growing upon a bush in the garden of the palace. It was a clever idea, and a trick Glinda did not suspect; so several precious hours were spent in a vain search for Mombi.

As sundown approached the Sorceress realized she had been defeated by the superior cunning of the aged witch; so she gave the command to her people to march out of the city and back to their tents.

The Scarecrow and his comrades happened to be searching in the garden of the palace just then, and they turned with disappointment to obey Glinda’s command. But before they left the garden the Tin Woodman, who was fond of flowers, chanced to espy a big red rose growing upon a bush; so he plucked the flower and fastened it securely in the tin button-hole of his tin bosom.

As he did this he fancied he heard a low moan proceed from the rose; but he paid no attention to the sound, and Mombi was thus carried out of the city and into Glinda’s camp without anyone having a suspicion that they had succeeded in their quest.

The Transformation of Old Mombi

The Witch was at first frightened at finding herself captured by the enemy; but soon she decided that she was exactly as safe in the Tin Woodman’s button-hole as growing upon the bush. For no one knew the rose and Mombi to be one, and now that she was without the gates of the City her chances of escaping altogether from Glinda were much improved.

“But there is no hurry,” thought Mombi. “I will wait awhile and enjoy the humiliation of this Sorceress when she finds I have outwitted her.”

So throughout the night the rose lay quietly on the Woodman’s bosom, and in the morning, when Glinda summoned our friends to a consultation, Nick Chopper carried his pretty flower with him to the white silk tent.

“For some reason,” said Glinda, “we have failed to find this cunning old Mombi; so I fear our expedition will prove a failure. And for that I am sorry, because without our assistance little Ozma will never be rescued and restored to her rightful position as Queen of the Emerald City.”

“Do not let us give up so easily,” said the Pumpkinhead. “Let us do something else.”

“Something else must really be done,” replied Glinda, with a smile; “yet I cannot understand how I have been defeated so easily by an old Witch who knows far less of magic than I do myself.”

“While we are on the ground I believe it would be wise for us to conquer the Emerald City for Princess Ozma, and find the girl afterward,” said the Scarecrow. “And while the girl remains hidden I will gladly rule in her place, for I understand the business of ruling much better than Jinjur does.”

“But I have promised not to molest Jinjur,” objected Glinda.

“Suppose you all return with me to my kingdom—or Empire, rather,” said the Tin Woodman, politely including the entire party in a royal wave of his arm. “It will give me great pleasure to entertain you in my castle, where there is room enough and to spare. And if any of you wish to be nickel-plated, my valet will do it free of all expense.”

While the Woodman was speaking Glinda’s eyes had been noting the rose in his button-hole, and now she imagined she saw the big red leaves of the flower tremble slightly. This quickly aroused her suspicions, and in a moment more the Sorceress had decided that the seeming rose was nothing else than a transformation of old Mombi. At the same instant Mombi knew she was discovered and must quickly plan an escape, and as transformations were easy to her she immediately took the form of a Shadow and glided along the wall of the tent toward the entrance, thinking thus to disappear.

But Glinda had not only equal cunning, but far more experience than the Witch. So the Sorceress reached the opening of the tent before the Shadow, and with a wave of her hand closed the entrance so securely that Mombi could not find a crack big enough to creep through. The Scarecrow and his friends were greatly surprised at Glinda’s actions; for none of them had noted the Shadow. But the Sorceress said to them:

“Remain perfectly quiet, all of you! For the old Witch is even now with us in this tent, and I hope to capture her.”

These words so alarmed Mombi that she quickly transformed herself from a shadow to a Black Ant, in which shape she crawled along the ground, seeking a crack or crevice in which to hide her tiny body.

Fortunately, the ground where the tent had been pitched, being just before the city gates, was hard and smooth; and while the Ant still crawled about, Glinda discovered it and ran quickly forward to effect its capture. But, just as her hand was descending, the Witch, now fairly frantic with fear, made her last transformation, and in the form of a huge Griffin sprang through the wall of the tent—tearing the silk asunder in her rush—and in a moment had darted away with the speed of a whirlwind.

Glinda did not hesitate to follow. She sprang upon the back of the Saw-Horse and cried:

“Now you shall prove that you have a right to be alive! Run—run—run!”

The Saw-Horse ran. Like a flash he followed the Griffin, his wooden legs moving so fast that they twinkled like the rays of a star. Before our friends could recover from their surprise both the Griffin and the Saw-Horse had dashed out of sight.

“Come! Let us follow!” cried the Scarecrow.

They ran to the place where the Gump was lying and quickly tumbled aboard.

“Fly!” commanded Tip, eagerly.

“Where to?” asked the Gump, in its calm voice.

“I don’t know,” returned Tip, who was very nervous at the delay; “but if you will mount into the air I think we can discover which way Glinda has gone.”

“Very well,” returned the Gump, quietly; and it spread its great wings and mounted high into the air.

Far away, across the meadows, they could now see two tiny specks, speeding one after the other; and they knew these specks must be the Griffin and the Saw-Horse. So Tip called the Gump’s attention to them and bade the creature try to overtake the Witch and the Sorceress. But, swift as was the Gump’s flight, the pursued and pursuer moved more swiftly yet, and within a few moments were blotted out against the dim horizon.

“Let us continue to follow them, nevertheless,” said the Scarecrow; “for the Land of Oz is of small extent, and sooner or later they must both come to a halt.”

Old Mombi had thought herself very wise to choose the form of a Griffin, for its legs were exceedingly fleet and its strength more enduring than that of other animals. But she had not reckoned on the untiring energy of the Saw-Horse, whose wooden limbs could run for days without slacking their speed. Therefore, after an hour’s hard running, the Griffin’s breath began to fail, and it panted and gasped painfully, and moved more slowly than before. Then it reached the edge of the desert and began racing across the deep sands. But its tired feet sank far into the sand, and in a few minutes the Griffin fell forward, completely exhausted, and lay still upon the desert waste.

Glinda came up a moment later, riding the still vigorous Saw-Horse; and having unwound a slender golden thread from her girdle the Sorceress threw it over the head of the panting and helpless Griffin, and so destroyed the magical power of Mombi’s transformation.

For the animal, with one fierce shudder, disappeared from view, while in its place was discovered the form of the old Witch, glaring savagely at the serene and beautiful face of the Sorceress.

Princess Ozma of Oz

“You are my prisoner, and it is useless for you to struggle any longer,” said Glinda, in her soft, sweet voice. “Lie still a moment, and rest yourself, and then I will carry you back to my tent.”

“Why do you seek me?” asked Mombi, still scarce able to speak plainly for lack of breath. “What have I done to you, to be so persecuted?”

“You have done nothing to me,” answered the gentle Sorceress; “but I suspect you have been guilty of several wicked actions; and if I find it is true that you have so abused your knowledge of magic, I intend to punish you severely.”

“I defy you!” croaked the old hag. “You dare not harm me!”

Just then the Gump flew up to them and alighted upon the desert sands beside Glinda. Our friends were delighted to find that Mombi had finally been captured, and after a hurried consultation it was decided they should all return to the camp in the Gump. So the Saw-Horse was tossed aboard, and then Glinda, still holding an end of the golden thread that was around Mombi’s neck, forced her prisoner to climb into the sofas. The others now followed, and Tip gave the word to the Gump to return.

The journey was made in safety, Mombi sitting in her place with a grim and sullen air; for the old hag was absolutely helpless so long as the magical thread encircled her throat. The army hailed Glinda’s return with loud cheers, and the party of friends soon gathered again in the royal tent, which had been neatly repaired during their absence.

“Now,” said the Sorceress to Mombi, “I want you to tell us why the Wonderful Wizard of Oz paid you three visits, and what became of the child, Ozma, which so curiously disappeared.”

The Witch looked at Glinda defiantly, but said not a word.

“Answer me!” cried the Sorceress.

But still Mombi remained silent.

“Perhaps she doesn’t know,” remarked Jack.

“I beg you will keep quiet,” said Tip. “You might spoil everything with your foolishness.”

“Very well, dear father!” returned the Pumpkinhead, meekly.

“How glad I am to be a Woggle-Bug!” murmured the Highly Magnified Insect, softly. “No one can expect wisdom to flow from a pumpkin.”

“Well,” said the Scarecrow, “what shall we do to make Mombi speak? Unless she tells us what we wish to know her capture will do us no good at all.”

“Suppose we try kindness,” suggested the Tin Woodman. “I’ve heard that anyone can be conquered with kindness, no matter how ugly they may be.”

At this the Witch turned to glare upon him so horribly that the Tin Woodman shrank back abashed.

Glinda had been carefully considering what to do, and now she turned to Mombi and said:

“You will gain nothing, I assure you, by thus defying us. For I am determined to learn the truth about the girl Ozma, and unless you tell me all that you know, I will certainly put you to death.”

“Oh, no! Don’t do that!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “It would be an awful thing to kill anyone—even old Mombi!”

“But it is merely a threat,” returned Glinda. “I shall not put Mombi to death, because she will prefer to tell me the truth.”

“Oh, I see!” said the tin man, much relieved.

“Suppose I tell you all that you wish to know,” said Mombi, speaking so suddenly that she startled them all. “What will you do with me then?”

“In that case,” replied Glinda, “I shall merely ask you to drink a powerful draft which will cause you to forget all the magic you have ever learned.”

“Then I would become a helpless old woman!”

“But you would be alive,” suggested the Pumpkinhead, consolingly.

“Do try to keep silent!” said Tip, nervously.

“I’ll try,” responded Jack; “but you will admit that it’s a good thing to be alive.”

“Especially if one happens to be Thoroughly Educated,” added the Woggle-Bug, nodding approval.

“You may make your choice,” Glinda said to old Mombi, “between death if you remain silent, and the loss of your magical powers if you tell me the truth. But I think you will prefer to live.”

Mombi cast an uneasy glance at the Sorceress, and saw that she was in earnest, and not to be trifled with. So she replied, slowly:

“I will answer your questions.”

“That is what I expected,” said Glinda, pleasantly. “You have chosen wisely, I assure you.”

She then motioned to one of her Captains, who brought her a beautiful golden casket. From this the Sorceress drew an immense white pearl, attached to a slender chain which she placed around her neck in such a way that the pearl rested upon her bosom, directly over her heart.

“Now,” said she, “I will ask my first question: Why did the Wizard pay you three visits?”

“Because I would not come to him,” answered Mombi.

“That is no answer,” said Glinda, sternly. “Tell me the truth.”

“Well,” returned Mombi, with downcast eyes, “he visited me to learn the way I make tea-biscuits.”

“Look up!” commanded the Sorceress.

Mombi obeyed.

“What is the color of my pearl?” demanded Glinda.

“Why—it is black!” replied the old Witch, in a tone of wonder.

“Then you have told me a falsehood!” cried Glinda, angrily. “Only when the truth is spoken will my magic pearl remain a pure white in color.”

Mombi now saw how useless it was to try to deceive the Sorceress; so she said, meanwhile scowling at her defeat:

“The Wizard brought to me the girl Ozma, who was then no more than a baby, and begged me to conceal the child.”

“That is what I thought,” declared Glinda, calmly. “What did he give you for thus serving him?”

“He taught me all the magical tricks he knew. Some were good tricks, and some were only frauds; but I have remained faithful to my promise.”

“What did you do with the girl?” asked Glinda; and at this question everyone bent forward and listened eagerly for the reply.

“I enchanted her,” answered Mombi.

“In what way?”

“I transformed her into—into—”

“Into what?” demanded Glinda, as the Witch hesitated.

“Into a boy!” said Mombi, in a low tone.

“A boy!” echoed every voice; and then, because they knew that this old woman had reared Tip from childhood, all eyes were turned to where the boy stood.

“Yes,” said the old Witch, nodding her head; “that is the Princess Ozma—the child brought to me by the Wizard who stole her father’s throne. That is the rightful ruler of the Emerald City!” and she pointed her long bony finger straight at the boy.

“I!” cried Tip, in amazement. “Why, I’m no Princess Ozma—I’m not a girl!”

Glinda smiled, and going to Tip she took his small brown hand within her dainty white one.

“You are not a girl just now,” said she, gently, “because Mombi transformed you into a boy. But you were born a girl, and also a Princess; so you must resume your proper form, that you may become Queen of the Emerald City.”

“Oh, let Jinjur be the Queen!” exclaimed Tip, ready to cry. “I want to stay a boy, and travel with the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and the Woggle-Bug, and Jack—yes! and my friend the Saw-Horse—and the Gump! I don’t want to be a girl!”

“Never mind, old chap,” said the Tin Woodman, soothingly; “it don’t hurt to be a girl, I’m told; and we will all remain your faithful friends just the same. And, to be honest with you, I’ve always considered girls nicer than boys.”

“They’re just as nice, anyway,” added the Scarecrow, patting Tip affectionately upon the head.

“And they are equally good students,” proclaimed the Woggle-Bug. “I should like to become your tutor, when you are transformed into a girl again.”

“But—see here!” said Jack Pumpkinhead, with a gasp: “if you become a girl, you can’t be my dear father any more!”

“No,” answered Tip, laughing in spite of his anxiety; “and I shall not be sorry to escape the relationship.” Then he added, hesitatingly, as he turned to Glinda: “I might try it for awhile,—just to see how it seems, you know. But if I don’t like being a girl you must promise to change me into a boy again.”

“Really,” said the Sorceress, “that is beyond my magic. I never deal in transformations, for they are not honest, and no respectable sorceress likes to make things appear to be what they are not. Only unscrupulous witches use the art, and therefore I must ask Mombi to effect your release from her charm, and restore you to your proper form. It will be the last opportunity she will have to practice magic.”

Now that the truth about Princess Ozma had been discovered, Mombi did not care what became of Tip; but she feared Glinda’s anger, and the boy generously promised to provide for Mombi in her old age if he became the ruler of the Emerald City. So the Witch consented to effect the transformation, and preparations for the event were at once made.

Glinda ordered her own royal couch to be placed in the center of the tent. It was piled high with cushions covered with rose-colored silk, and from a golden railing above hung many folds of pink gossamer, completely concealing the interior of the couch.

The first act of the Witch was to make the boy drink a potion which quickly sent him into a deep and dreamless sleep. Then the Tin Woodman and the Woggle-Bug bore him gently to the couch, placed him upon the soft cushions, and drew the gossamer hangings to shut him from all earthly view.

The Witch squatted upon the ground and kindled a tiny fire of dried herbs, which she drew from her bosom. When the blaze shot up and burned clearly old Mombi scattered a handful of magical powder over the fire, which straightway gave off a rich violet vapor, filling all the tent with its fragrance and forcing the Saw-Horse to sneeze—although he had been warned to keep quiet.

Then, while the others watched her curiously, the hag chanted a rhythmical verse in words which no one understood, and bent her lean body seven times back and forth over the fire. And now the incantation seemed complete, for the Witch stood upright and cried the one word “Yeowa!” in a loud voice.

The vapor floated away; the atmosphere became clear again; a whiff of fresh air filled the tent, and the pink curtains of the couch trembled slightly, as if stirred from within.

Glinda walked to the canopy and parted the silken hangings. Then she bent over the cushions, reached out her hand, and from the couch arose the form of a young girl, fresh and beautiful as a May morning. Her eyes sparkled as two diamonds, and her lips were tinted like a tourmaline. All adown her back floated tresses of ruddy gold, with a slender jeweled circlet confining them at the brow. Her robes of silken gauze floated around her like a cloud, and dainty satin slippers shod her feet.

At this exquisite vision Tip’s old comrades stared in wonder for the space of a full minute, and then every head bent low in honest admiration of the lovely Princess Ozma. The girl herself cast one look into Glinda’s bright face, which glowed with pleasure and satisfaction, and then turned upon the others. Speaking the words with sweet diffidence, she said:

“I hope none of you will care less for me than you did before. I’m just the same Tip, you know; only—only—”

“Only you’re different!” said the Pumpkinhead; and everyone thought it was the wisest speech he had ever made.

The Riches of Content

When the wonderful tidings reached the ears of Queen Jinjur—how Mombi the Witch had been captured; how she had confessed her crime to Glinda; and how the long-lost Princess Ozma had been discovered in no less a personage than the boy Tip—she wept real tears of grief and despair.

“To think,” she moaned, “that after having ruled as Queen, and lived in a palace, I must go back to scrubbing floors and churning butter again! It is too horrible to think of! I will never consent!”

So when her soldiers, who spent most of their time making fudge in the palace kitchens, counseled Jinjur to resist, she listened to their foolish prattle and sent a sharp defiance to Glinda the Good and the Princess Ozma. The result was a declaration of war, and the very next day Glinda marched upon the Emerald City with pennants flying and bands playing, and a forest of shining spears sparkling brightly beneath the sun’s rays.

But when it came to the walls this brave assembly made a sudden halt; for Jinjur had closed and barred every gateway, and the walls of the Emerald City were builded high and thick with many blocks of green marble. Finding her advance thus baffled, Glinda bent her brows in deep thought, while the Woggle-Bug said, in his most positive tone:

“We must lay siege to the city, and starve it into submission. It is the only thing we can do.”

“Not so,” answered the Scarecrow. “We still have the Gump, and the Gump can still fly.”

The Sorceress turned quickly at this speech, and her face now wore a bright smile.

“You are right,” she exclaimed, “and certainly have reason to be proud of your brains. Let us go to the Gump at once!”

So they passed through the ranks of the army until they came to the place, near the Scarecrow’s tent, where the Gump lay. Glinda and Princess Ozma mounted first, and sat upon the sofas. Then the Scarecrow and his friends climbed aboard, and still there was room for a Captain and three soldiers, which Glinda considered sufficient for a guard.

Now, at a word from the Princess, the queer Thing they had called the Gump flopped its palm-leaf wings and rose into the air, carrying the party of adventurers high above the walls. They hovered over the palace, and soon perceived Jinjur reclining in a hammock in the courtyard, where she was comfortably reading a novel with a green cover and eating green chocolates, confident that the walls would protect her from her enemies. Obeying a quick command, the Gump alighted safely in this very courtyard, and before Jinjur had time to do more than scream, the Captain and three soldiers leaped out and made the former Queen a prisoner, locking strong chains upon both her wrists.

That act really ended the war; for the Army of Revolt submitted as soon as they knew Jinjur to be a captive, and the Captain marched in safety through the streets and up to the gates of the city, which she threw wide open. Then the bands played their most stirring music while Glinda’s army marched into the city, and heralds proclaimed the conquest of the audacious Jinjur and the accession of the beautiful Princess Ozma to the throne of her royal ancestors.

At once the men of the Emerald City cast off their aprons. And it is said that the women were so tired eating of their husbands’ cooking that they all hailed the conquest of Jinjur with joy. Certain it is that, rushing one and all to the kitchens of their houses, the good wives prepared so delicious a feast for the weary men that harmony was immediately restored in every family.

Ozma’s first act was to oblige the Army of Revolt to return to her every emerald or other gem stolen from the public streets and buildings; and so great was the number of precious stones picked from their settings by these vain girls, that every one of the royal jewelers worked steadily for more than a month to replace them in their settings.

Meantime the Army of Revolt was disbanded and the girls sent home to their mothers. On promise of good behavior Jinjur was likewise released.

Ozma made the loveliest Queen the Emerald City had ever known; and, although she was so young and inexperienced, she ruled her people with wisdom and justice. For Glinda gave her good advice on all occasions; and the Woggle-Bug, who was appointed to the important post of Public Educator, was quite helpful to Ozma when her royal duties grew perplexing.

The girl, in her gratitude to the Gump for its services, offered the creature any reward it might name.

“Then,” replied the Gump, “please take me to pieces. I did not wish to be brought to life, and I am greatly ashamed of my conglomerate personality. Once I was a monarch of the forest, as my antlers fully prove; but now, in my present upholstered condition of servitude, I am compelled to fly through the air—my legs being of no use to me whatever. Therefore I beg to be dispersed.”

So Ozma ordered the Gump taken apart. The antlered head was again hung over the mantle-piece in the hall, and the sofas were untied and placed in the reception parlors. The broom tail resumed its accustomed duties in the kitchen, and finally, the Scarecrow replaced all the clotheslines and ropes on the pegs from which he had taken them on the eventful day when the Thing was constructed.

You might think that was the end of the Gump; and so it was, as a flying-machine. But the head over the mantle-piece continued to talk whenever it took a notion to do so, and it frequently startled, with its abrupt questions, the people who waited in the hall for an audience with the Queen.

The Saw-Horse, being Ozma’s personal property, was tenderly cared for; and often she rode the queer creature along the streets of the Emerald City. She had its wooden legs shod with gold, to keep them from wearing out, and the tinkle of these golden shoes upon the pavement always filled the Queen’s subjects with awe as they thought upon this evidence of her magical powers.

“The Wonderful Wizard was never so wonderful as Queen Ozma,” the people said to one another, in whispers; “for he claimed to do many things he could not do; whereas our new Queen does many things no one would ever expect her to accomplish.”

Jack Pumpkinhead remained with Ozma to the end of his days; and he did not spoil as soon as he had feared, although he always remained as stupid as ever. The Woggle-Bug tried to teach him several arts and sciences; but Jack was so poor a student that any attempt to educate him was soon abandoned.

After Glinda’s army had marched back home, and peace was restored to the Emerald City, the Tin Woodman announced his intention to return to his own Kingdom of the Winkies.

“It isn’t a very big Kingdom,” said he to Ozma, “but for that very reason it is easier to rule; and I have called myself an Emperor because I am an Absolute Monarch, and no one interferes in any way with my conduct of public or personal affairs. When I get home I shall have a new coat of nickel plate; for I have become somewhat marred and scratched lately; and then I shall be glad to have you pay me a visit.”

“Thank you,” replied Ozma. “Someday I may accept the invitation. But what is to become of the Scarecrow?”

“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one, seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”

“And I have made the Scarecrow my Royal Treasurer,” explained the Tin Woodman. “For it has occurred to me that it is a good thing to have a Royal Treasurer who is made of money. What do you think?”

“I think,” said the little Queen, smiling, “that your friend must be the richest man in all the world.”

“I am,” returned the Scarecrow; “but not on account of my money. For I consider brains far superior to money, in every way. You may have noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to advantage; but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to live comfortably to the end of his days.”

“At the same time,” declared the Tin Woodman, “you must acknowledge that a good heart is a thing that brains can not create, and that money can not buy. Perhaps, after all, it is I who am the richest man in all the world.”

“You are both rich, my friends,” said Ozma, gently; “and your riches are the only riches worth having—the riches of content!”