The Marvelous Land of Oz 2 – Baum · Library Across
Literature · Fantasy
The Marvelous Land of Oz 2The Marvelous Land of Oz (part 2)
18
Literature · Fantasy
The Marvelous Land of Oz 2
The Marvelous Land of Oz (part 2)
BaumEnglish
The Scarecrow moved uneasily upon his throne, and felt of his head with his left hand.
“What a fine thing it is to understand two different languages,” he said, with a perplexed sigh. “Ask him, my dear, if he has any objection to being put in jail for insulting the ruler of the Emerald City.”
“Tut—tut!” cautioned the Scarecrow “wait, until Jellia translates my speech. What have we got an interpreter for, if you break out in this rash way?”
“All right, I’ll wait,” replied the Pumpkinhead, in a surly tone—although his face smiled as genially as ever. “Translate the speech, young woman.”
“His Majesty inquires if you are hungry,” said Jellia.
“Oh, not at all!” answered Jack, more pleasantly, “for it is impossible for me to eat.”
“It’s the same way with me,” remarked the Scarecrow. “What did he say, Jellia, my dear?”
“He asked if you were aware that one of your eyes is painted larger than the other,” said the girl, mischievously.
“Don’t you believe her, your Majesty,” cried Jack.
“Oh, I don’t,” answered the Scarecrow, calmly. Then, casting a sharp look at the girl, he asked:
“Are you quite certain you understand the languages of both the Gillikins and the Munchkins?”
“Quite certain, your Majesty,” said Jellia Jamb, trying hard not to laugh in the face of royalty.
“Then how is it that I seem to understand them myself?” inquired the Scarecrow.
“Because they are one and the same!” declared the girl, now laughing merrily. “Does not your Majesty know that in all the land of Oz but one language is spoken?”
“Is it indeed so?” cried the Scarecrow, much relieved to hear this; “then I might easily have been my own interpreter!”
“It was all my fault, your Majesty,” said Jack, looking rather foolish, “I thought we must surely speak different languages, since we came from different countries.”
“This should be a warning to you never to think,” returned the Scarecrow, severely. “For unless one can think wisely it is better to remain a dummy—which you most certainly are.”
“I am!—I surely am!” agreed the Pumpkinhead.
“It seems to me,” continued the Scarecrow, more mildly, “that your manufacturer spoiled some good pies to create an indifferent man.”
“I assure your Majesty that I did not ask to be created,” answered Jack.
“Ah! It was the same in my case,” said the King, pleasantly. “And so, as we differ from all ordinary people, let us become friends.”
“With all my heart!” exclaimed Jack.
“What! Have you a heart?” asked the Scarecrow, surprised.
“No; that was only imaginative—I might say, a figure of speech,” said the other.
“Well, your most prominent figure seems to be a figure of wood; so I must beg you to restrain an imagination which, having no brains, you have no right to exercise,” suggested the Scarecrow, warningly.
“To be sure!” said Jack, without in the least comprehending.
His Majesty then dismissed Jellia Jamb and the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and when they were gone he took his new friend by the arm and led him into the courtyard to play a game of quoits.
Gen. Jinjur’s Army of Revolt
Tip was so anxious to rejoin his man Jack and the Saw-Horse that he walked a full half the distance to the Emerald City without stopping to rest. Then he discovered that he was hungry and the crackers and cheese he had provided for the Journey had all been eaten.
While wondering what he should do in this emergency he came upon a girl sitting by the roadside. She wore a costume that struck the boy as being remarkably brilliant: her silken waist being of emerald green and her skirt of four distinct colors—blue in front, yellow at the left side, red at the back and purple at the right side. Fastening the waist in front were four buttons—the top one blue, the next yellow, a third red and the last purple.
The splendor of this dress was almost barbaric; so Tip was fully justified in staring at the gown for some moments before his eyes were attracted by the pretty face above it. Yes, the face was pretty enough, he decided; but it wore an expression of discontent coupled to a shade of defiance or audacity.
While the boy stared the girl looked upon him calmly. A lunch basket stood beside her, and she held a dainty sandwich in one hand and a hard-boiled egg in the other, eating with an evident appetite that aroused Tip’s sympathy.
He was just about to ask a share of the luncheon when the girl stood up and brushed the crumbs from her lap.
“There!” said she; “it is time for me to go. Carry that basket for me and help yourself to its contents if you are hungry.”
Tip seized the basket eagerly and began to eat, following for a time the strange girl without bothering to ask questions. She walked along before him with swift strides, and there was about her an air of decision and importance that led him to suspect she was some great personage.
Finally, when he had satisfied his hunger, he ran up beside her and tried to keep pace with her swift footsteps—a very difficult feat, for she was much taller than he, and evidently in a hurry.
“Thank you very much for the sandwiches,” said Tip, as he trotted along. “May I ask your name?”
“I am General Jinjur,” was the brief reply.
“Oh!” said the boy surprised. “What sort of a General?”
“I command the Army of Revolt in this war,” answered the General, with unnecessary sharpness.
“Oh!” he again exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was a war.”
“You were not supposed to know it,” she returned, “for we have kept it a secret; and considering that our army is composed entirely of girls,” she added, with some pride, “it is surely a remarkable thing that our Revolt is not yet discovered.”
“It is, indeed,” acknowledged Tip. “But where is your army?”
“About a mile from here,” said General Jinjur. “The forces have assembled from all parts of the Land of Oz, at my express command. For this is the day we are to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow, and wrest from him the throne. The Army of Revolt only awaits my coming to march upon the Emerald City.”
“Well!” declared Tip, drawing a long breath, “this is certainly a surprising thing! May I ask why you wish to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow?”
“Because the Emerald City has been ruled by men long enough, for one reason,” said the girl.
“Moreover, the City glitters with beautiful gems, which might far better be used for rings, bracelets and necklaces; and there is enough money in the King’s treasury to buy every girl in our Army a dozen new gowns. So we intend to conquer the City and run the government to suit ourselves.”
Jinjur spoke these words with an eagerness and decision that proved she was in earnest.
“But war is a terrible thing,” said Tip, thoughtfully.
“This war will be pleasant,” replied the girl, cheerfully.
“Many of you will be slain!” continued the boy, in an awed voice.
“Oh, no”, said Jinjur. “What man would oppose a girl, or dare to harm her? And there is not an ugly face in my entire Army.”
Tip laughed.
“Perhaps you are right,” said he. “But the Guardian of the Gate is considered a faithful Guardian, and the King’s Army will not let the City be conquered without a struggle.”
“The Army is old and feeble,” replied General Jinjur, scornfully. “His strength has all been used to grow whiskers, and his wife has such a temper that she has already pulled more than half of them out by the roots. When the Wonderful Wizard reigned the Soldier with the Green Whiskers was a very good Royal Army, for people feared the Wizard. But no one is afraid of the Scarecrow, so his Royal Army don’t count for much in time of war.”
After this conversation they proceeded some distance in silence, and before long reached a large clearing in the forest where fully four hundred young women were assembled. These were laughing and talking together as gaily as if they had gathered for a picnic instead of a war of conquest.
They were divided into four companies, and Tip noticed that all were dressed in costumes similar to that worn by General Jinjur. The only real difference was that while those girls from the Munchkin country had the blue strip in front of their skirts, those from the country of the Quadlings had the red strip in front; and those from the country of the Winkies had the yellow strip in front, and the Gillikin girls wore the purple strip in front. All had green waists, representing the Emerald City they intended to conquer, and the top button on each waist indicated by its color which country the wearer came from. The uniforms were Jaunty and becoming, and quite effective when massed together.
Tip thought this strange Army bore no weapons whatever; but in this he was wrong. For each girl had stuck through the knot of her back hair two long, glittering knitting-needles.
General Jinjur immediately mounted the stump of a tree and addressed her army.
“Friends, fellow-citizens, and girls!” she said; “we are about to begin our great Revolt against the men of Oz! We march to conquer the Emerald City—to dethrone the Scarecrow King—to acquire thousands of gorgeous gems—to rifle the royal treasury—and to obtain power over our former oppressors!”
“Hurrah!” said those who had listened; but Tip thought most of the Army was too much engaged in chattering to pay attention to the words of the General.
The command to march was now given, and the girls formed themselves into four bands, or companies, and set off with eager strides toward the Emerald City.
The boy followed after them, carrying several baskets and wraps and packages which various members of the Army of Revolt had placed in his care. It was not long before they came to the green granite walls of the City and halted before the gateway.
The Guardian of the Gate at once came out and looked at them curiously, as if a circus had come to town. He carried a bunch of keys swung round his neck by a golden chain; his hands were thrust carelessly into his pockets, and he seemed to have no idea at all that the City was threatened by rebels. Speaking pleasantly to the girls, he said:
“Good morning, my dears! What can I do for you?”
“Surrender instantly!” answered General Jinjur, standing before him and frowning as terribly as her pretty face would allow her to.
“Surrender!” echoed the man, astounded. “Why, it’s impossible. It’s against the law! I never heard of such a thing in my life.”
“Still, you must surrender!” exclaimed the General, fiercely. “We are revolting!”
“You don’t look it,” said the Guardian, gazing from one to another, admiringly.
“But we are!” cried Jinjur, stamping her foot, impatiently; “and we mean to conquer the Emerald City!”
“Good gracious!” returned the surprised Guardian of the Gates; “what a nonsensical idea! Go home to your mothers, my good girls, and milk the cows and bake the bread. Don’t you know it’s a dangerous thing to conquer a city?”
“We are not afraid!” responded the General; and she looked so determined that it made the Guardian uneasy.
So he rang the bell for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and the next minute was sorry he had done so. For immediately he was surrounded by a crowd of girls who drew the knitting-needles from their hair and began Jabbing them at the Guardian with the sharp points dangerously near his fat cheeks and blinking eyes.
The poor man howled loudly for mercy and made no resistance when Jinjur drew the bunch of keys from around his neck.
Followed by her Army the General now rushed to the gateway, where she was confronted by the Royal Army of Oz—which was the other name for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.
“Halt!” he cried, and pointed his long gun full in the face of the leader.
Some of the girls screamed and ran back, but General Jinjur bravely stood her ground and said, reproachfully:
“Why, how now? Would you shoot a poor, defenceless girl?”
“No,” replied the soldier. “for my gun isn’t loaded.”
“Not loaded?”
“No; for fear of accidents. And I’ve forgotten where I hid the powder and shot to load it with. But if you’ll wait a short time I’ll try to hunt them up.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Jinjur, cheerfully. Then she turned to her Army and cried:
“Girls, the gun isn’t loaded!”
“Hooray,” shrieked the rebels, delighted at this good news, and they proceeded to rush upon the Soldier with the Green Whiskers in such a crowd that it was a wonder they didn’t stick the knitting-needles into one another.
But the Royal Army of Oz was too much afraid of women to meet the onslaught. He simply turned about and ran with all his might through the gate and toward the royal palace, while General Jinjur and her mob flocked into the unprotected City.
In this way was the Emerald City captured without a drop of blood being spilled. The Army of Revolt had become an Army of Conquerors!
The Scarecrow Plans an escape
Tip slipped away from the girls and followed swiftly after the Soldier with the Green Whiskers. The invading army entered the City more slowly, for they stopped to dig emeralds out of the walls and paving-stones with the points of their knitting-needles. So the Soldier and the boy reached the palace before the news had spread that the City was conquered.
The Scarecrow and Jack Pumpkinhead were still playing at quoits in the courtyard when the game was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of the Royal Army of Oz, who came flying in without his hat or gun, his clothes in sad disarray and his long beard floating a yard behind him as he ran.
“Tally one for me,” said the Scarecrow, calmly “What’s wrong, my man?” he added, addressing the Soldier.
“Oh! your Majesty—your Majesty! The City is conquered!” gasped the Royal Army, who was all out of breath.
“This is quite sudden,” said the Scarecrow. “But please go and bar all the doors and windows of the palace, while I show this Pumpkinhead how to throw a quoit.”
The Soldier hastened to do this, while Tip, who had arrived at his heels, remained in the courtyard to look at the Scarecrow with wondering eyes.
His Majesty continued to throw the quoits as coolly as if no danger threatened his throne, but the Pumpkinhead, having caught sight of Tip, ambled toward the boy as fast as his wooden legs would go.
“Good afternoon, noble parent!” he cried, delightedly. “I’m glad to see you are here. That terrible Saw-Horse ran away with me.”
“I suspected it,” said Tip. “Did you get hurt? Are you cracked at all?”
“No, I arrived safely,” answered Jack, “and his Majesty has been very kind indeed to me.”
At this moment the Soldier with the Green Whiskers returned, and the Scarecrow asked:
“By the way, who has conquered me?”
“A regiment of girls, gathered from the four corners of the Land of Oz,” replied the Soldier, still pale with fear.
“But where was my Standing Army at the time?” inquired his Majesty, looking at the Soldier, gravely.
“Your Standing Army was running,” answered the fellow, honestly; “for no man could face the terrible weapons of the invaders.”
“Well,” said the Scarecrow, after a moment’s thought, “I don’t mind much the loss of my throne, for it’s a tiresome job to rule over the Emerald City. And this crown is so heavy that it makes my head ache. But I hope the Conquerors have no intention of injuring me, just because I happen to be the King.”
“I heard them, say” remarked Tip, with some hesitation, “that they intend to make a rag carpet of your outside and stuff their sofa-cushions with your inside.”
“Then I am really in danger,” declared his Majesty, positively, “and it will be wise for me to consider a means to escape.”
“Where can you go?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.
“Why, to my friend the Tin Woodman, who rules over the Winkies, and calls himself their Emperor,” was the answer. “I am sure he will protect me.”
Tip was looking out the window.
“The palace is surrounded by the enemy,” said he. “It is too late to escape. They would soon tear you to pieces.”
The Scarecrow sighed.
“In an emergency,” he announced, “it is always a good thing to pause and reflect. Please excuse me while I pause and reflect.”
“But we also are in danger,” said the Pumpkinhead, anxiously. “If any of these girls understand cooking, my end is not far off!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “they’re too busy to cook, even if they know how!”
“But should I remain here a prisoner for any length of time,” protested Jack, “I’m liable to spoil.”
“Ah! then you would not be fit to associate with,” returned the Scarecrow. “The matter is more serious than I suspected.”
“You,” said the Pumpkinhead, gloomily, “are liable to live for many years. My life is necessarily short. So I must take advantage of the few days that remain to me.”
“There, there! Don’t worry,” answered the Scarecrow soothingly; “if you’ll keep quiet long enough for me to think, I’ll try to find some way for us all to escape.”
So the others waited in patient silence while the Scarecrow walked to a corner and stood with his face to the wall for a good five minutes. At the end of that time he faced them with a more cheerful expression upon his painted face.
“Where is the Saw-Horse you rode here?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.
“Why, I said he was a jewel, and so your man locked him up in the royal treasury,” said Jack.
“It was the only place I could think of your Majesty,” added the Soldier, fearing he had made a blunder.
“It pleases me very much,” said the Scarecrow. “Has the animal been fed?”
“Oh, yes; I gave him a heaping peck of sawdust.”
“Excellent!” cried the Scarecrow. “Bring the horse here at once.”
The Soldier hastened away, and presently they heard the clattering of the horse’s wooden legs upon the pavement as he was led into the courtyard.
His Majesty regarded the steed critically. “He doesn’t seem especially graceful!” he remarked, musingly. “but I suppose he can run?”
“He can, indeed,” said Tip, gazing upon the Saw-Horse admiringly.
“Then, bearing us upon his back, he must make a dash through the ranks of the rebels and carry us to my friend the Tin Woodman,” announced the Scarecrow.
“He can’t carry four!” objected Tip.
“No, but he may be induced to carry three,” said his Majesty. “I shall therefore leave my Royal Army Behind. For, from the ease with which he was conquered, I have little confidence in his powers.”
“Still, he can run,” declared Tip, laughing.
“I expected this blow” said the Soldier, sulkily; “but I can bear it. I shall disguise myself by cutting off my lovely green whiskers. And, after all, it is no more dangerous to face those reckless girls than to ride this fiery, untamed wooden horse!”
“Perhaps you are right,” observed his Majesty. “But, for my part, not being a soldier, I am fond of danger. Now, my boy, you must mount first. And please sit as close to the horse’s neck as possible.”
Tip climbed quickly to his place, and the Soldier and the Scarecrow managed to hoist the Pumpkinhead to a seat just behind him. There remained so little space for the King that he was liable to fall off as soon as the horse started.
“Fetch a clothesline,” said the King to his Army, “and tie us all together. Then if one falls off we will all fall off.”
And while the Soldier was gone for the clothesline his Majesty continued, “it is well for me to be careful, for my very existence is in danger.”
“I have to be as careful as you do,” said Jack.
“Not exactly,” replied the Scarecrow. “for if anything happened to me, that would be the end of me. But if anything happened to you, they could use you for seed.”
The Soldier now returned with a long line and tied all three firmly together, also lashing them to the body of the Saw-Horse; so there seemed little danger of their tumbling off.
“Now throw open the gates,” commanded the Scarecrow, “and we will make a dash to liberty or to death.”
The courtyard in which they were standing was located in the center of the great palace, which surrounded it on all sides. But in one place a passage led to an outer gateway, which the Soldier had barred by order of his sovereign. It was through this gateway his Majesty proposed to escape, and the Royal Army now led the Saw-Horse along the passage and unbarred the gate, which swung backward with a loud crash.
“Now,” said Tip to the horse, “you must save us all. Run as fast as you can for the gate of the City, and don’t let anything stop you.”
“All right!” answered the Saw-Horse, gruffly, and dashed away so suddenly that Tip had to gasp for breath and hold firmly to the post he had driven into the creature’s neck.
Several of the girls, who stood outside guarding the palace, were knocked over by the Saw-Horse’s mad rush. Others ran screaming out of the way, and only one or two jabbed their knitting-needles frantically at the escaping prisoners. Tip got one small prick in his left arm, which smarted for an hour afterward; but the needles had no effect upon the Scarecrow or Jack Pumpkinhead, who never even suspected they were being prodded.
As for the Saw-Horse, he made a wonderful record upsetting a fruit cart, overturning several meek looking men, and finally bowling over the new Guardian of the Gate—a fussy little fat woman appointed by General Jinjur.
Nor did the impetuous charger stop then. Once outside the walls of the Emerald City he dashed along the road to the West with fast and violent leaps that shook the breath out of the boy and filled the Scarecrow with wonder.
Jack had ridden at this mad rate once before, so he devoted every effort to holding, with both hands, his pumpkin head upon its stick, enduring meantime the dreadful jolting with the courage of a philosopher.
“Slow him up! Slow him up!” shouted the Scarecrow. “My straw is all shaking down into my legs.”
But Tip had no breath to speak, so the Saw-Horse continued his wild career unchecked and with unabated speed.
Presently they came to the banks of a wide river, and without a pause the wooden steed gave one final leap and launched them all in mid-air.
A second later they were rolling, splashing and bobbing about in the water, the horse struggling frantically to find a rest for its feet and its riders being first plunged beneath the rapid current and then floating upon the surface like corks.
The Journey to the Tin Woodman
Tip was well soaked and dripping water from every angle of his body. But he managed to lean forward and shout in the ear of the Saw-Horse:
“Keep still, you fool! Keep still!”
The horse at once ceased struggling and floated calmly upon the surface, its wooden body being as buoyant as a raft.
“What does that word ‘fool’ mean?” enquired the horse.
“It is a term of reproach,” answered Tip, somewhat ashamed of the expression. “I only use it when I am angry.”
“Then it pleases me to be able to call you a fool, in return,” said the horse. “For I did not make the river, nor put it in our way; so only a term of, reproach is fit for one who becomes angry with me for falling into the water.”
“That is quite evident,” replied Tip; “so I will acknowledge myself in the wrong.” Then he called out to the Pumpkinhead: “are you all right, Jack?”
There was no reply. So the boy called to the King “are you all right, your majesty?”
The Scarecrow groaned.
“I’m all wrong, somehow,” he said, in a weak voice. “How very wet this water is!”
Tip was bound so tightly by the cord that he could not turn his head to look at his companions; so he said to the Saw-Horse:
“Paddle with your legs toward the shore.”
The horse obeyed, and although their progress was slow they finally reached the opposite river bank at a place where it was low enough to enable the creature to scramble upon dry land.
With some difficulty the boy managed to get his knife out of his pocket and cut the cords that bound the riders to one another and to the wooden horse. He heard the Scarecrow fall to the ground with a mushy sound, and then he himself quickly dismounted and looked at his friend Jack.
The wooden body, with its gorgeous clothing, still sat upright upon the horse’s back; but the pumpkin head was gone, and only the sharpened stick that served for a neck was visible. As for the Scarecrow, the straw in his body had shaken down with the jolting and packed itself into his legs and the lower part of his body—which appeared very plump and round while his upper half seemed like an empty sack. Upon his head the Scarecrow still wore the heavy crown, which had been sewed on to prevent his losing it; but the head was now so damp and limp that the weight of the gold and jewels sagged forward and crushed the painted face into a mass of wrinkles that made him look exactly like a Japanese pug dog.
Tip would have laughed—had he not been so anxious about his man Jack. But the Scarecrow, however damaged, was all there, while the pumpkin head that was so necessary to Jack’s existence was missing; so the boy seized a long pole that fortunately lay near at hand and anxiously turned again toward the river.
Far out upon the waters he sighted the golden hue of the pumpkin, which gently bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves. At that moment it was quite out of Tip’s reach, but after a time it floated nearer and still nearer until the boy was able to reach it with his pole and draw it to the shore. Then he brought it to the top of the bank, carefully wiped the water from its pumpkin face with his handkerchief, and ran with it to Jack and replaced the head upon the man’s neck.
“Dear me!” were Jack’s first words. “What a dreadful experience! I wonder if water is liable to spoil pumpkins?”
Tip did not think a reply was necessary, for he knew that the Scarecrow also stood in need of his help. So he carefully removed the straw from the King’s body and legs, and spread it out in the sun to dry. The wet clothing he hung over the body of the Saw-Horse.
“If water spoils pumpkins,” observed Jack, with a deep sigh, “then my days are numbered.”
“I’ve never noticed that water spoils pumpkins,” returned Tip; “unless the water happens to be boiling. If your head isn’t cracked, my friend, you must be in fairly good condition.”
“Oh, my head isn’t cracked in the least,” declared Jack, more cheerfully.
“Then don’t worry,” retorted the boy. “Care once killed a cat.”
“Then,” said Jack, seriously, “I am very glad indeed that I am not a cat.”
The sun was fast drying their clothing, and Tip stirred up his Majesty’s straw so that the warm rays might absorb the moisture and make it as crisp and dry as ever. When this had been accomplished he stuffed the Scarecrow into symmetrical shape and smoothed out his face so that he wore his usual gay and charming expression.
“Thank you very much,” said the monarch, brightly, as he walked about and found himself to be well balanced. “There are several distinct advantages in being a Scarecrow. For if one has friends near at hand to repair damages, nothing very serious can happen to you.”
“I wonder if hot sunshine is liable to crack pumpkins,” said Jack, with an anxious ring in his voice.
“Not at all—not at all!” replied the Scarecrow, gaily. “All you need fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall quickly part company—but you needn’t look forward to it; we’ll discover the fact ourselves, and notify you. But come! Let us resume our journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin Woodman.”
So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the Pumpkinhead clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around the wooden form of Jack.
“Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit,” said Tip to his steed.
“All right!” responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.
“Aren’t you a little hoarse?” asked the Pumpkinhead politely.
The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward toward Tip.
“See here,” he growled, “can’t you protect me from insult?”
“To be sure!” answered Tip, soothingly. “I am sure Jack meant no harm. And it will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good friends.”
“I’ll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead,” declared the Saw-Horse, viciously. “he loses his head too easily to suit me.”
There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode along in silence.
After a while the Scarecrow remarked:
“This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I once saved Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?” asked Jack, glancing around fearfully.
“They are all dead, so it doesn’t matter,” replied the Scarecrow. “And here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch’s Grey Wolves.”
“Who was Nick Chopper?” asked Tip.
“That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman, answered his Majesty. And here is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew away with little Dorothy,” he continued, after they had traveled a little way farther.
“Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?” asked Jack, with a shiver of fear.
“I do not know; but you have little cause to, worry, for the Winged Monkeys are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap that commands their services,” said the Scarecrow, reflectively.
Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought recalling the days of past adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the flower-strewn fields and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.
Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night. So Tip stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.
“I’m tired out,” said the boy, yawning wearily; “and the grass is soft and cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning.”
“I can’t sleep,” said Jack.
“I never do,” said the Scarecrow.
“I do not even know what sleep is,” said the Saw-Horse.
“Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of flesh and blood and bone, and gets tired,” suggested the Scarecrow, in his usual thoughtful manner. “I remember it was the same way with little Dorothy. We always had to sit through the night while she slept.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tip, meekly, “but I can’t help it. And I’m dreadfully hungry, too!”
“Here is a new danger!” remarked Jack, gloomily. “I hope you are not fond of eating pumpkins.”
“Not unless they’re stewed and made into pies,” answered the boy, laughing. “So have no fears of me, friend Jack.”
“What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!” said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.
“You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!” retorted Jack, angrily.
“There!—there!” interrupted the Scarecrow; “don’t let us quarrel. We all have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be considerate of one another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has nothing whatever to eat, let us all remain quiet and allow him to sleep; for it is said that in sleep a mortal may forget even hunger.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Tip, gratefully. “Your Majesty is fully as good as you are wise—and that is saying a good deal!”
He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of the Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.
A Nickel-Plated Emperor
Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and plucked, with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from some bushes near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample breakfast, and afterward the little party resumed its Journey.
After an hour’s ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they espied the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the Emperor’s palace rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.
The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:
“How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I hope that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled mine!”
“Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?” asked the horse.
“Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over them soon after the Wicked Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the world I am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor.”
“I thought that ‘Emperor’ was the title of a person who rules an empire,” said Tip, “and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom.”
“Don’t mention that to the Tin Woodman!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, earnestly. “You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as he has every reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor rather than King.”
“I’m sure it makes no difference to me,” replied the boy.
The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had hard work to stick upon its back; so there was little further conversation until they drew up beside the palace steps.
An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to assist them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to his personage:
“Show us at once to your master, the Emperor.”
The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way, and finally answered:
“I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving this morning.”
“How is that?” enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”
“Oh, no; nothing serious,” returned the man. “But this is his Majesty’s day for being polished; and just now his august presence is thickly smeared with putz-pomade.”
“Oh, I see!” cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. “My friend was ever inclined to be a dandy, and I suppose he is now more proud than ever of his personal appearance.”
“He is, indeed,” said the man, with a polite bow. “Our mighty Emperor has lately caused himself to be nickel-plated.”
“Good Gracious!” the Scarecrow exclaimed at hearing this. “If his wit bears the same polish, how sparkling it must be! But show us in—I’m sure the Emperor will receive us, even in his present state”
“The Emperor’s state is always magnificent,” said the man. “But I will venture to tell him of your arrival, and will receive his commands concerning you.”
So the party followed the servant into a splendid ante-room, and the Saw-Horse ambled awkwardly after them, having no knowledge that a horse might be expected to remain outside.
The travelers were at first somewhat awed by their surroundings, and even the Scarecrow seemed impressed as he examined the rich hangings of silver cloth caught up into knots and fastened with tiny silver axes. Upon a handsome center-table stood a large silver oil-can, richly engraved with scenes from the past adventures of the Tin Woodman, Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow: the lines of the engraving being traced upon the silver in yellow gold. On the walls hung several portraits, that of the Scarecrow seeming to be the most prominent and carefully executed, while a the large painting of the famous Wizard of Oz, in act of presenting the Tin Woodman with a heart, covered almost one entire end of the room.
While the visitors gazed at these things in silent admiration they suddenly heard a loud voice in the next room exclaim:
“Well! well! well! What a great surprise!”
And then the door burst open and Nick Chopper rushed into their midst and caught the Scarecrow in a close and loving embrace that creased him into many folds and wrinkles.
“My dear old friend! My noble comrade!” cried the Tin Woodman, joyfully. “how delighted! I am to meet you once again.”
And then he released the Scarecrow and held him at arms’ length while he surveyed the beloved, painted features.
But, alas! the face of the Scarecrow and many portions of his body bore great blotches of putz-pomade; for the Tin Woodman, in his eagerness to welcome his friend, had quite forgotten the condition of his toilet and had rubbed the thick coating of paste from his own body to that of his comrade.
“Dear me!” said the Scarecrow dolefully. “What a mess I’m in!”
“Never mind, my friend,” returned the Tin Woodman, “I’ll send you to my Imperial Laundry, and you’ll come out as good as new.”
“Won’t I be mangled?” asked the Scarecrow.
“No, indeed!” was the reply. “But tell me, how came your Majesty here? and who are your companions?”
The Scarecrow, with great politeness, introduced Tip and Jack Pumpkinhead, and the latter personage seemed to interest the Tin Woodman greatly.
“You are not very substantial, I must admit,” said the Emperor. “but you are certainly unusual, and therefore worthy to become a member of our select society.”
“I thank your Majesty,” said Jack, humbly.
“I hope you are enjoying good health?” continued the Woodman.
“At present, yes;” replied the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh; “but I am in constant terror of the day when I shall spoil.”
“Nonsense!” said the Emperor—but in a kindly, sympathetic tone. “Do not, I beg of you, dampen today’s sun with the showers of tomorrow. For before your head has time to spoil you can have it canned, and in that way it may be preserved indefinitely.”
Tip, during this conversation, was looking at the Woodman with undisguised amazement, and noticed that the celebrated Emperor of the Winkies was composed entirely of pieces of tin, neatly soldered and riveted together into the form of a man. He rattled and clanked a little, as he moved, but in the main he seemed to be most cleverly constructed, and his appearance was only marred by the thick coating of polishing-paste that covered him from head to foot.
The boy’s intent gaze caused the Tin Woodman to remember that he was not in the most presentable condition, so he begged his friends to excuse him while he retired to his private apartment and allowed his servants to polish him. This was accomplished in a short time, and when the emperor returned his nickel-plated body shone so magnificently that the Scarecrow heartily congratulated him on his improved appearance.
“That nickel-plate was, I confess, a happy thought,” said Nick; “and it was the more necessary because I had become somewhat scratched during my adventurous experiences. You will observe this engraved star upon my left breast. It not only indicates where my excellent heart lies, but covers very neatly the patch made by the Wonderful Wizard when he placed that valued organ in my breast with his own skillful hands.”
“Is your heart, then, a hand-organ?” asked the Pumpkinhead, curiously.
“By no means,” responded the emperor, with dignity. “It is, I am convinced, a strictly orthodox heart, although somewhat larger and warmer than most people possess.”
Then he turned to the Scarecrow and asked:
“Are your subjects happy and contented, my dear friend?”
“I cannot, say” was the reply. “for the girls of Oz have risen in revolt and driven me out of the emerald City.”
“Great Goodness!” cried the Tin Woodman, “What a calamity! They surely do not complain of your wise and gracious rule?”
“No; but they say it is a poor rule that don’t work both ways,” answered the Scarecrow; “and these females are also of the opinion that men have ruled the land long enough. So they have captured my city, robbed the treasury of all its jewels, and are running things to suit themselves.”
“Dear me! What an extraordinary idea!” cried the Emperor, who was both shocked and surprised.
“And I heard some of them say,” said Tip, “that they intend to march here and capture the castle and city of the Tin Woodman.”
“Ah! we must not give them time to do that,” said the Emperor, quickly; “we will go at once and recapture the Emerald City and place the Scarecrow again upon his throne.”
“I was sure you would help me,” remarked the Scarecrow in a pleased voice. “How large an army can you assemble?”
“We do not need an army,” replied the Woodman. “We four, with the aid of my gleaming axe, are enough to strike terror into the hearts of the rebels.”
“We five,” corrected the Pumpkinhead.
“Five?” repeated the Tin Woodman.
“Yes; the Saw-Horse is brave and fearless,” answered Jack, forgetting his recent quarrel with the quadruped.
The Tin Woodman looked around him in a puzzled way, for the Saw-Horse had until now remained quietly standing in a corner, where the Emperor had not noticed him. Tip immediately called the odd-looking creature to them, and it approached so awkwardly that it nearly upset the beautiful center-table and the engraved oil-can.
“I begin to think,” remarked the Tin Woodman as he looked earnestly at the Saw-Horse, “that wonders will never cease! How came this creature alive?”
“I did it with a magic powder,” modestly asserted the boy. “and the Saw-Horse has been very useful to us.”
“He enabled us to escape the rebels,” added the Scarecrow.
“Then we must surely accept him as a comrade,” declared the emperor. “A live Saw-Horse is a distinct novelty, and should prove an interesting study. Does he know anything?”
“Well, I cannot claim any great experience in life,” the Saw-Horse answered for himself. “but I seem to learn very quickly, and often it occurs to me that I know more than any of those around me.”
“Perhaps you do,” said the emperor; “for experience does not always mean wisdom. But time is precious just now, so let us quickly make preparations to start upon our Journey.”
The emperor called his Lord High Chancellor and instructed him how to run the kingdom during his absence. Meanwhile the Scarecrow was taken apart and the painted sack that served him for a head was carefully laundered and restuffed with the brains originally given him by the great Wizard. His clothes were also cleaned and pressed by the Imperial tailors, and his crown polished and again sewed upon his head, for the Tin Woodman insisted he should not renounce this badge of royalty. The Scarecrow now presented a very respectable appearance, and although in no way addicted to vanity he was quite pleased with himself and strutted a trifle as he walked. While this was being done Tip mended the wooden limbs of Jack Pumpkinhead and made them stronger than before, and the Saw-Horse was also inspected to see if he was in good working order.
Then bright and early the next morning they set out upon the return Journey to the emerald City, the Tin Woodman bearing upon his shoulder a gleaming axe and leading the way, while the Pumpkinhead rode upon the Saw-Horse and Tip and the Scarecrow walked upon either side to make sure that he didn’t fall off or become damaged.
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 practised 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 and every step of this Journey, 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.
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 witch-craft 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 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, buglike 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 swallowtail 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 regular 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.
