The Patchwork Girl of Oz

  Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;

  She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decrees

  To make her people happy, for her heart is kind and true

  And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.

  And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,

  A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;

  And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,

  Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.

  I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,

  Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,

  Nor old Professor Woggle-Bug, who's highly magnified

  And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.

  Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,

  But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;

  The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of wood

  He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.

  And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores—

  The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,

  And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,

  Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.

  There's Tik-Tok—he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight—

  He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;

  And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eat

  But never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.

  It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;

  'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;

  But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen

  And Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.

  Just search the whole world over—sail the seas from coast to coast—

  No other nation in creation queerer folk can boast;

  And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,

  A Woozy, and—last but not least—a crazy Patchwork Lass."

  Ojo was so pleased with this song that he applauded the singer by clapping his hands, and Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded fingers together, although they made no noise. The cat pounded on the floor with her glass paws—gently, so as not to break them—and the Woozy, which had been asleep, woke up to ask what the row was about.

  "I seldom sing in public, for fear they might want me to start an opera company," remarked the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his effort was appreciated. "Voice, just now, is a little out of training; rusty, perhaps."

  "Tell me," said the Patchwork Girl earnestly, "do all those queer people you mention really live in the Land of Oz?"

  "Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing: Dorothy's Pink Kitten."

  "For goodness sake!" exclaimed Bungle, sitting up and looking interested. "A Pink Kitten? How absurd! Is it glass?"

  "No; just ordinary kitten."

  "Then it can't amount to much. I have pink brains, and you can see 'em work."

  "Dorothy's kitten is all pink—brains and all—except blue eyes. Name's Eureka. Great favorite at the royal palace," said the Shaggy Man, yawning.

  The Glass Cat seemed annoyed.

  "Do you think a pink kitten—common meat—is as pretty as I am?" she asked.

  "Can't say. Tastes differ, you know," replied the Shaggy Man, yawning again. "But here's a pointer that may be of service to you: make friends with Eureka and you'll be solid at the palace."

  "I'm solid now; solid glass."

  "You don't understand," rejoined the Shaggy Man, sleepily. "Anyhow, make friends with the Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the Pink Kitten despises you, look out for breakers."

  "Would anyone at the royal palace break a Glass Cat?"

  "Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr soft and look humble—if you can. And now I'm going to bed."

  Bungle considered the Shaggy Man's advice so carefully that her pink brains were busy long after the others of the party were fast asleep.

  Chapter Twelve - The Giant Porcupine

  *

  Next morning they started out bright and early to follow the road of yellow bricks toward the Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was beginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he had a great many things to think of and consider besides the events of the journey. At the wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently reach, were so many strange and curious people that he was half afraid of meeting them and wondered if they would prove friendly and kind. Above all else, he could not drive from his mind the important errand on which he had come, and he was determined to devote every energy to finding the things that were necessary to prepare the magic recipe. He believed that until dear Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel no joy in anything, and often he wished that Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now a marble statue in the house of the Crooked Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to save him.

  The country through which they were passing was still rocky and deserted, with here and there a bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo noticed one tree, especially, because it had such long, silky leaves and was so beautiful in shape. As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly, wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it bore pretty flowers.

  Suddenly he became aware that he had been looking at that tree a long time—at least for five minutes—and it had remained in the same position, although the boy had continued to walk steadily on. So he stopped short, and when he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as well as his companions, moved on before him and left him far behind.

  Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that it aroused the Shaggy Man, who also halted. The others then stopped, too, and walked back to the boy.

  "What's wrong?" asked the Shaggy Man.

  "Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no matter how fast we walk," declared Ojo. "Now that we have stopped, we are moving backward! Can't you see? Just notice that rock."

  Scraps looked down at her feet and said: "The yellow bricks are not moving."

  "But the whole road is," answered Ojo.

  "True; quite true," agreed the Shaggy Man. "I know all about the tricks of this road, but I have been thinking of something else and didn't realize where we were."

  "It will carry us back to where we started from," predicted Ojo, beginning to be nervous.

  "No," replied the Shaggy Man; "it won't do that, for I know a trick to beat this tricky road. I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn around, all of you, and walk backward."

  "What good will that do?" asked the cat.

  "You'll find out, if you obey me," said the Shaggy Man.

  So they all turned their backs to the direction in which they wished to go and began walking backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were gaining ground and as they proceeded in this curious way they soon passed the tree which had first attracted his attention to their difficulty.

  "How long must we keep this up, Shags?" asked Scraps, who was constantly tripping and tumbling down, only to get up again with a laugh at her mishap.

  "Just a little way farther," replied the Shaggy Man.

  A few minutes later he called to them to turn about quickly and step forward, and as they obeyed the order they found themselves treading solid ground.

  "That task is well over," observed the Shaggy Man. "It's a little tiresome to walk backward, but that is the only way to pass this part of the road, which has a trick of sliding back and carrying with it anyone who is walking upon it."

  With new courage and energy they now trudged forward and after a time came to a place where the road cut through a low hill, leaving high banks on either side of it. They were traveling along this cut, talking together, when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps
with one arm and Ojo with another and shouted: "Stop!"

  "What's wrong now?" asked the Patchwork Girl.

  "See there!" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing with his finger.

  Directly in the center of the road lay a motionless object that bristled all over with sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was as big as a ten-bushel-basket, but the projecting quills made it appear to be four times bigger.

  "Well, what of it?" asked Scraps.

  "That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble along this road," was the reply.

  "Chiss! What is Chiss?

  "I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine, but here in Oz they consider Chiss an evil spirit. He's different from a reg'lar porcupine, because he can throw his quills in any direction, which an American porcupine cannot do. That's what makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too near, he'll fire those quills at us and hurt us badly."

  "Then we will be foolish to get too near," said Scraps.

  "I'm not afraid," declared the Woozy. "The Chiss is cowardly, I'm sure, and if it ever heard my awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be scared stiff."

  "Oh; can you growl?" asked the Shaggy Man.

  "That is the only ferocious thing about me," asserted the Woozy with evident pride. "My growl makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed of itself. If I growled at that creature you call Chiss, it would immediately think the world had cracked in two and bumped against the sun and moon, and that would cause the monster to run as far and as fast as its legs could carry it."

  "In that case," said the Shaggy Man, "you are now able to do us all a great favor. Please growl."

  "But you forget," returned the Woozy; "my tremendous growl would also frighten you, and if you happen to have heart disease you might expire."

  "True; but we must take that risk," decided the Shaggy Man, bravely. "Being warned of what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific noise of your growl; but Chiss won't expect it, and it will scare him away."

  The Woozy hesitated.

  "I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you," it said.

  "Never mind," said Ojo.

  "You may be made deaf."

  "If so, we will forgive you."

  "Very well, then," said the Woozy in a determined voice, and advanced a few steps toward the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it asked: "All ready?"

  "All ready!" they answered.

  "Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves firmly. Now, then—look out!"

  The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its mouth and said:

  "Quee-ee-ee-eek."

  "Go ahead and growl," said Scraps.

  "Why, I—I did growl!" retorted the Woozy, who seemed much astonished.

  "What, that little squeak?" she cried.

  "It is the most awful growl that ever was heard, on land or sea, in caverns or in the sky," protested the Woozy. "I wonder you stood the shock so well. Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I suppose Chiss is now quite dead with fright."

  The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.

  "Poor Wooz!" said he; "your growl wouldn't scare a fly."

  The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised. It hung its head a moment, as if in shame or sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence: "Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire, too; good enough to set fire to a fence!"

  "That is true," declared Scraps; "I saw it done myself. But your ferocious growl isn't as loud as the tick of a beetle—or one of Ojo's snores when he's fast asleep."

  "Perhaps," said the Woozy, humbly, "I have been mistaken about my growl. It has always sounded very fearful to me, but that may have been because it was so close to my ears."

  "Never mind," Ojo said soothingly; "it is a great talent to be able to flash fire from your eyes. No one else can do that."

  As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss stirred and suddenly a shower of quills came flying toward them, almost filling the air, they were so many. Scraps realized in an instant that they had gone too near to Chiss for safety, so she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him from the darts, which stuck their points into her own body until she resembled one of those targets they shoot arrows at in archery games. The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat, the quills rattled off her body without making even a scratch, and the skin of the Woozy was so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.

  When the attack was over they all ran to the Shaggy Man, who was moaning and groaning, and Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg. Then up he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting his foot on the monster's neck and holding it a prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now as smooth as leather, except for the holes where the quills had been, for it had shot every single quill in that one wicked shower.

  "Let me go!" it shouted angrily. "How dare you put your foot on Chiss?"

  "I'm going to do worse than that, old boy," replied the Shaggy Man. "You have annoyed travelers on this road long enough, and now I shall put an end to you."

  "You can't!" returned Chiss. "Nothing can kill me, as you know perfectly well."

  "Perhaps that is true," said the Shaggy Man in a tone of disappointment. "Seems to me I've been told before that you can't be killed. But if I let you go, what will you do?"

  "Pick up my quills again," said Chiss in a sulky voice.

  "And then shoot them at more travelers? No; that won't do. You must promise me to stop throwing quills at people."

  "I won't promise anything of the sort," declared Chiss.

  "Why not?"

  "Because it is my nature to throw quills, and every animal must do what Nature intends it to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were wrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn't be made with quills to throw. The proper thing for you to do is to keep out of my way."

  "Why, there's some sense in that argument," admitted the Shaggy Man, thoughtfully; "but people who are strangers, and don't know you are here, won't be able to keep out of your way."

  "Tell you what," said Scraps, who was trying to pull the quills out of her own body, "let's gather up all the quills and take them away with us; then old Chiss won't have any left to throw at people."

  "Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must gather up the quills while I hold Chiss a prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of his quills and be able to throw them again."

  So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills and tied them in a bundle so they might easily be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released Chiss and let him go, knowing that he was harmless to injure anyone.

  "It's the meanest trick I ever heard of," muttered the porcupine gloomily. "How would you like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away from you?"

  "If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would be welcome to capture them," was the reply.

  Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in the road sullen and disconsolate. The Shaggy Man limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt him, and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills had left a number of small holes in her patches.

  When they came to a flat stone by the roadside the Shaggy Man sat down to rest, and then Ojo opened his basket and took out the bundle of charms the Crooked Magician had given him.

  "I am Ojo the Unlucky," he said, "or we would never have met that dreadful porcupine. But I will see if I can find anything among these charms which will cure your leg."

  Soon he discovered that one of the charms was labelled: "For flesh wounds," and this the boy separated from the others. It was only a bit of dried root, taken from some unknown shrub, but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by the quill and in a few moments the place was healed entirely and the Shaggy Man's leg was as good as ever.

  "Rub it on the holes in my patches," suggested Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but without any effect.

  "The charm you need is a needle and thread," said the Shaggy Man. "But do not worry, my dear; those holes do not look badly, at
all."

  "They'll let in the air, and I don't want people to think I'm airy, or that I've been stuck up," said the Patchwork Girl.

  "You were certainly stuck up until we pulled out those quills," observed Ojo, with a laugh.

  So now they went on again and coming presently to a pond of muddy water they tied a heavy stone to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.

  Chapter Thirteen - Scraps and the Scarecrow

  *

  From here on the country improved and the desert places began to give way to fertile spots; still no houses were yet to be seen near the road. There were some hills, with valleys between them, and on reaching the top of one of these hills the travelers found before them a high wall, running to the right and the left as far as their eyes could reach. Immediately in front of them, where the wall crossed the roadway, stood a gate having stout iron bars that extended from top to bottom. They found, on coming nearer, that this gate was locked with a great padlock, rusty through lack of use.

  "Well," said Scraps, "I guess we'll stop here."

  "It's a good guess," replied Ojo. "Our way is barred by this great wall and gate. It looks as if no one had passed through in many years."

  "Looks are deceiving," declared the Shaggy Man, laughing at their disappointed faces, "and this barrier is the most deceiving thing in all Oz."

  "It prevents our going any farther, anyhow," said Scraps. "There is no one to mind the gate and let people through, and we've no key to the padlock."

  "True," replied Ojo, going a little nearer to peep through the bars of the gate. "What shall we do, Shaggy Man? If we had wings we might fly over the wall, but we cannot climb it and unless we get to the Emerald City I won't be able to find the things to restore Unc Nunkie to life."

  "All very true," answered the Shaggy Man, quietly; "but I know this gate, having passed through it many times."

  "How?" they all eagerly inquired.

  "I'll show you how," said he. He stood Ojo in the middle of the road and placed Scraps just behind him, with her padded hands on his shoulders. After the Patchwork Girl came the Woozy, who held a part of her skirt in his mouth. Then, last of all, was the Glass Cat, holding fast to the Woozy's tail with her glass jaws.