L. Frank Baum - Oz 18 Page 6

  Dorothy herself was first blown to Oz in a Kansas cyclone and after a great many visits to this delightful country, determined to stay for good. So Ozma, with the help of her magic belt, transported Dorothy and Uncle Henry and Aunt Em and Toto to the Land of Oz. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em have a comfortable little farm just outside of the

  Emerald City, but Dorothy and Toto have a cunning apartment in the Emerald Palace itself, for Ozma cannot bear to have Dorothy far away. The two girls-for Ozma herself is only a little girl fairy-have been through so many adventures together that they are almost inseparable, and to show her love and affection for this little girl from the United States Ozma has made Dorothy a Royal Princess of Oz.

  But through all her honors and adventures Dorothy has remained the same jolly little girl she was in Kansas. Every now and then she puts aside her silk court frocks, slips into an old gingham dress and steals off for a visit to some of her friends in the country.

  “We’ll soon be at the Scarecrow’s, Toto; shall you like that?” she asked, after skipping along for five whole minutes without speaking. “Perhaps he’ll have corn muffins and honey and-Whatever’s that?”

  “Little girl! Little girl!” A voice came echoing high and clear down the sunlit lane.

  Toto pricked up his ears, and Dorothy, shading her eyes, turned in the direction of the voice. Running toward her was a young man clothed all in buff an extremely excited and agitated young man-and by the time he reached Dorothy and Toto he was perfectly breathless.

  “Well-” began Dorothy, hardly knowing what else to say. “Not very well, thank you,” puffed the young man, slapping at his face with a yellow silk handkerchief. On closer inspection Dorothy saw that his handsome suit was torn and muddied and the young man himself exceedingly scratched and weary.

  “I am most unhappy,” he continued, regarding her mournfully. “At least, when I can remember to be. It is hard to be unhappy in a lovely country like this.”

  “Then why do you try to remember to be?” asked Dorothy with a little laugh, while Toto made a playful dash at the stranger’s heels.

  “A great deal depends on my remembering,” explained the young man eagerly. “If I forget to be unhappy I may forget why I fell down the mountain and why I am wandering in ,this strange country without friends or food.”

  “Well, why are you?” Dorothy could control her curiosity no longer. “I am seeking a Princess,” replied the youth solemnly.

  “A Princess! Well, will I do?” Dorothy smiled mischievously and while the stranger stared at her, round-eyed, she made him her prettiest court bow. The result was extremely funny. The Forgetful Poet-for of course you have guessed all along that it was he extended his arms toward Toto and cried accusingly:

  “I looked the maiden in the eye, I looked her up and down, She says she is a Princess, But, she hasn’t any-any-?” Toto barked indignantly at this limping poetry.

  “I suppose you mean crown, giggled Dorothy. “Yes I have too, but it’s at home, in Ozma’s castle.”

  “The crown is in the castle, The castle’s in the town; The town is in the land of Oz, But how about her-her-” He stared helplessly at Dorothy’s gingham dress and, with another little scream of laughter, Dorothy finished his verse. “Gown!” spluttered the little girl. “Do you always talk like that?”

  “Pretty often,” admitted Percy Vere apologetically. “You see, I am a poet. And I know who you are now. You’re Princess Dorothy herself!” He smiled so charmingly as he said this that Dorothy could not help smiling back

  “I’ve read all about you in Peer Haps’ history books,” confided Percy triumphantly. “Shall I address you as Princess?” As he asked this question the troubled expression returned to his eyes. “You haven’t seen a Princess anywhere around here have you?” he added anxiously. Dorothy shook her head and Toto began sniffing under all the bushes as if he expected to find a Princess in any one of them.

  “A little Princess, Passing fair, With rosy cheeks And yellow-yellow-”

  “Hair,” put in Dorothy quickly. “Who is she? Who are you and how did she get lost? Let’s sit down and then you can tell me all about it.” “He’s exactly like a puzzle,” thought Dorothy, with an amused little sniff. So Percy Vere sat down beside her under a spreading jelly tree and as quickly as he could he told of the strange happenings in Perhaps City, of the prophecy about the monster, of the strange conduct of old Abrog, the Prophet, and finally of the disappearance of both the Princess and the Prophet. Percy himself had fallen down the steep craggy sides of Maybe Mountain, arriving in a scratched and bruised heap at the bottom. All morning he had been wandering through the fields and lanes of the Winkie land and Dorothy was the first person he had encountered.

  “Well, I think you were just splendid,” breathed the little girl, as the Forgetful Poet finished his story. Percy had tried to gloss over the young men’s refusal to go in search of the Princess, but Dorothy had guessed quite correctly what had happened.

  “I’ll bet that old prophet carried her off himself,” she declared positively. “I think so two, I think so three, I think so four, Where can they-?” Percy mopped his brow and looked appealingly at the little girl. “Be,” supplied Dorothy obligingly. “I’m sure I don’t know but we can soon find out. You just come to the Emerald City with me and we’ll look in Ozma’s magic picture.”

  “Why you are wise As you are pretty; Let’s hasten to The Emerald City!” Smiling all over because he had actually finished his own verse, the Forgetful Poet helped Dorothy to her feet and both started gaily down the lane, Dorothy telling the poet all about the interesting folk in the capitol and Percy Vere telling Dorothy all about the City of Gold on Maybe Mountain. Dorothy’s idea of looking in Ozma’s picture, like all of her other ideas, was a mighty good one, for this picture has a magical power enabling a person to see whomever he wishes, so that one look would disclose the whereabouts of the lost

  Princess of Perhaps City. But at every step, they were putting a longer distance between themselves and that look. For at every step, thanks to that little baconfly, they were going farther and farther away from the Emerald City of Oz.

  They had eaten the lunch the Tin Woodman had thoughtfully put up for Dorothy, and now, as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, the little girl looked anxiously ahead for familiar landmarks. But instead the lane-which should have led straight to the Scarecrow’s tower, which is halfway between the Tin Woodman’s Palace and the Emerald City-the lane suddenly came to a stop in a scraggly little woods.

  “That’s funny!” mused Dorothy, looking around in surprise. “Are we lost?” asked Percy, leaning wearily against a tree. “Hello! Hello, why here’s a sign Tacked up upon this prickly-prickly-” Without bothering to finish the verse, Dorothy hurried over to the pine.

  “Look out for the Runaway,” advised the sign, in large red letters. “Runaway!” cried Dorothy, snatching Toto up in her arms. “Good gracious! I wonder what kind of a runaway it is?” They were not long left in doubt, for while Percy was still staring nervously all ‘round, there came a hiss and a snap and ‘round a big rock shot the runaway itself, scooping up the two travellers before they had time to even wink a single eyelash.

  “This is p-perfectly preposterous,” blustered the Forgetful Poet. Both he and

  Dorothy were sitting in the middle of the runaway and Percy Vere hastily slipped his arm around the little girl to keep her from falling off. The runaway road itself was humping along like some dreadful sort of serpent, jouncing and bouncing them so terribly that talking was almost impossible.

  “Wonder where it’s running!” gasped Dorothy, hugging Toto so tight he began to growl a little. From somewhere ahead a gritty voice answered her.

  “I’m running straight to a pepper mine,” roared the runaway, “and you’ll make a handsome pair of pepper diggers.”

  “P-pepper diggers!” groaned Percy Vere. “Pepper diggers, not that please, The very idea makes me, makes me— “ “Ha-ha-ka kachoo,” sneezed Pe
rcy miserably. “Pepper doesn’t grow in mines. It’s a plant,” shouted Dorothy indignantly. “Well, this pepper mine of mine was planted,” replied the road, twisting ‘round to stare at Dorothy with its stony eyes. Neither Dorothy nor the Forgetful Poet answered this time, for the bumping and bouncing had grown so much worse that it was all they could do to hold on to each other and keep from biting their tongues off. Nothing like this had ever happened to the Forgetful Poet before. He was simply stunned. But Dorothy had been in so many strange adventures and had had so many odd experiences in the land of Oz, that she was already planning to outwit the runaway.

  “It wouldn’t be safe to jump off,” thought the little girl, “for we’d probably be broken to bits, but-” Her eyes travelled upward to the trees and bushes that were flashing past as the runaway flung itself recklessly through the forest-“If we caught hold of a low branch the old road would go on without us,” she reflected triumphantly.

  As well as she could, for bumps and bounces, she whispered her plan to Percy Vere. He nodded enthusiastically and transferred Toto to his blouse, so that Dorothy would have both hands free. Then, when a huge tree loomed up ahead, they both began to count, and as its branches stretched over the runaway, they hurled themselves upward and held on for dear life. Beneath slithered the road and not until the last yellow length of it had flashed by did Dorothy and Percy Vere let go. Percy dropped to the ground first, gently lifted Dorothy down, and took the frightened, wiggling little Toto out of his blouse.

  “Whew!” breathed Dorothy, leaning dizzily against Percy, “that’s the worst ride I’ve had for a long time. Wonder where we are?” “Do we do this often?” panted the Forgetful Poet, looking at Dorothy with round eyes “I’m perfectly pulverized!”

  “Well, I never met a runaway before,” confessed Dorothy, “but you never can tell what’s going to happen in Oz, so first thing we’d better do is to find out where we are!”

  “We’re in a forest dark and deep, I hope the bears are all-are all-” “Asleep! So do I!” sighed Dorothy, and began tiptoeing along under the great lonesome trees, Toto keeping close at her side and Percy Vere treading softly behind her.

  CHAPTER 10: Prince Forge John of Fire Island

  BEFORE Grampa and his little company had recovered from the shock of winding down instead of up, the strange stairway gathered itself together, and, with a sudden jerk, shook them all off.

  “Break ranks!” roared the old soldier, kicking out wildly with his game leg.

  “I don’t want to break my ranks,” said Bill crossly. Tatters and Urtha were too startled to say anything and for a few seconds they simply fell in surprised silence. The hollow down which they were tumbling was wide and dimly lighted with a soft, spooky glow. The air was thick and heavy and they were falling much slower than Grampa and Tatters had fallen down the hollow tree. First fell Urtha, her flowery skirts fluttering gracefully around her; then fell Tatters, clinging to Bill with one arm and his red umbrella with the other; then the old soldier, his gun, drum, sword and knapsack rattling like a box full of marbles.

  “I feel exactly like a butterfly. Are we flying, dear Mr Soldier?” laughed the flower maiden presently.

  “No, my poor child,” puffed Grampa, staring down at her anxiously. “We’re falling!”

  “Falling asleep?” asked Urtha contentedly. “Depends on how we land, groaned the old soldier, and suddenly remembering his last landing he snatched the wizard’s medicine bottle from his pocket.

  “Is there anything on the label about falling?” panted Tatters, who was close enough to notice the old soldier’s action. Grampa held the bottle close to his eyes, and though reading while falling is one of the hardest things I know of to do, after a deal of squinting the old soldier read out the following: “For falling hairs, one drop in full glass of water!”

  “But we’re not hares,” wheezed Bill indignantly. “And if our hair stopped falling and we fell on, we’d be scalped!” puffed Grampa hoarsely. “Besides there isn’t any water, so there’s nothing to do but fall!”

  “Stormy weather! Stormy weather!” predicted Bill gloomily. “Look out below, look out, look out, look out!” As the weather cock came to his last look out, the air grew suddenly lighter, the speed of the four fallers increased and next thing, with a great splash and splutter, they had plunged into a deep underground lake. Blowing like a porpoise, Grampa rose to the surface.

  “One drop in water,” choked the old soldier and, treading water furiously, he began to look around for his little army. In the dim green light he could see Urtha floating like a tiny island of flowers on the top of the water-her fine spray of hair spread out ‘round her lovely little face. A short distance away Tatters was making frantic efforts to keep afloat but, with the iron weather cock and the enormous umbrella, it was a difficult business and every few minutes the poor Prince of Ragbad would disappear under the waves. Grampa himself, handicapped as he was by a game leg and so many weapons, found swimming a dreadful exertion and by the time he reached Tatters he was completely exhausted. He still grasped the wizard’s bottle in one hand.

  “Wet-very wet!” The head of Bill appeared above the water and then went under, as Tatters took another drive toward the bottom.

  “Grampa, I’m drowning!” gulped the poor Prince, reappearing for a second on the surface. It never occurred to the Prince to drop Bill or his father’s umbrella. Grampa himself had shipped so much water he had no breath to speak, but he flung his hand out desperately toward the Prince and, as luck would have it, it was the hand holding the wizard’s medicine.

  “Don’t drown!” begged Grampa, his eye fixed desperately on the green label.

  “Wait, there’s a cure for it.” Treading water again, he clutched Tatters by the hair and pressed the bottle to his lips. “One swallow and you’ll swim like a fish,” promised Grampa.

  “My head’s swimming already,” muttered Tatters weakly. It was all the Prince could do to get the stuff down, for he had swallowed quarts of the lake already. Grampa was so interested in watching the effects of the dose that he forgot to move his feet and went down himself. But just as the water closed over his head he put the wizard’s bottle to his own lips, took a hasty mouthful and jammed in the cork. Immediately he bobbed to the surface and, with a great sigh of relief, saw Tatters floating on top of the waves, Bill perched precariously upon his chest. Grampa felt as buoyant as a cork and, using his gun as an oar, steered toward Tatters and Urtha and soon all three were bobbing along side by side.

  “This medicine’s the only good thing that wizard ever invented,” said Grampa, sticking the bottle through his belt. “Feeling better, old boy?” Tatters shook his head feebly. He could not help thinking how far out of their way they had fallen, and how very far they were from the Emerald City and even from

  Ragbad itself. He blinked hastily at the thought of Mrs. Sew-and-Sew and the cozy red castle on the hill, and he hoped Pudge had remembered to feed his pigeons. Tatters himself never expected to see them again. Only Urtha seemed really to be enjoying the adventure. Her little flower face was wreathed in smiles and her lovely flower frock fairly sparkled with freshness.

  “Isn’t this fun!” she kept repeating merrily. “Isn’t this fun?” Grampa nodded, but not very enthusiastically.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get back on top again?” asked Tatters gloomily. “Of course,” spluttered Grampa. “We’ve fallen down about as far as we can fall and from now on things will take an upward turn, you see. Hello, this water’s kinda hot! Great swordfish, what’s that noise?”

  “The fortune! The fortune!” shrieked Bill, jumping up and down upon Tatters’ thin chest and ducking the Prince at every jump. “The fortune!” With a great effort, Grampa sat up in the water, which was already beginning to steam, and then fell backward with a terrific splash.

  “Halt!” commanded Grampa, trying to push against the current with his sword.

  “Stop! Halt!” A great roaring was in their ears and the green ligh
t had changed to a red hot glow. Now Tatters sat up. Then he, too, began to kick wildly about in an effort to stop himself. And no wonder! They were being carried straight toward a roaring red island of fire!

  “The fortune! The fortune!” screeched Bill, more excited than ever.

  “Fortune!” groaned Grampa, reaching out to catch Urtha, who was floating rapidly past.

  “Misfortune! Halt! Stop! Everybody back!”

  “Better stop backing and look on that bottle,” gulped the Prince of Ragbad.

  “Better see if there’s any cure for-for this!” He waved desperately ahead. And Grampa, with a little choke of fright, pulled out the wizard’s medicine. “Burns, scalds and heat strokes,” faltered Grampa. “Well, we’d better take the cure for ‘all three.” A teaspoonful was prescribed in each case and with trembling hands the old soldier measured out the doses. Bill could not swallow, so the old soldier dashed the medicine over his head.

  “I think you’re a fairy,” puffed Grampa, throwing a dose in the face of the surprised little flower girl, “but if anything should happen I’d never forgive myself.”

  Tatters came next and by this time the water was so hot that Grampa himself began to groan with discomfort. So he hastily swallowed his three spoonfuls, corked the bottle and prepared for the worst. But immediately everything grew better. The waves of heat from the island seemed only pleasant breezes now and the steaming water did not even feel hot. Before they had time to wonder at all this, they were washed up on the burning sands of Fire Island itself.