This page contains affiliate links. As Amazon Associates we earn from qualifying purchases.
Writer:
Language:
Forms:
Published:
  • 1/7/1913
Collection:
Buy it on Amazon Listen via Audible FREE Audible 30 days

“Only in my Magic Picture, which shows me all scenes of interest in the Land of Oz.”

“I fear the picture didn’t do her justice,” said the Scarecrow.

“It seemed to me that nothing could be more gorgeous,” declared Ozma. “Whoever made that patchwork quilt, from which Scraps was formed, must have selected the gayest and brightest bits of cloth that ever were woven.”

“I am glad you like her,” said the Scarecrow in a satisfied tone. Although the straw man did not eat, not being made so he could, he often dined with Ozma and her companions, merely for the pleasure of talking with them. He sat at the table and had a napkin and plate, but the servants knew better than to offer him food. After a little while he asked: “Where is the Patchwork Girl now?”

“In my room,” replied Dorothy. “I’ve taken a fancy to her; she’s so queer and–and–uncommon.”

“She’s half crazy, I think,” added the Shaggy Man.

“But she is so beautiful!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, as if that fact disarmed all criticism. They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the Scarecrow was quite serious. Seeing that he was interested in Scraps they forbore to say anything against her. The little band of friends Ozma had gathered around her was so quaintly assorted that much care must be exercised to avoid hurting their feelings or making any one of them unhappy. It was this considerate kindness that held them close friends and enabled them to enjoy one another’s society.

Another thing they avoided was conversing on unpleasant subjects, and for that reason Ojo and his troubles were not mentioned during the dinner. The Shaggy Man, however, related his adventures with the monstrous plants which had seized and enfolded the travelers, and told how he had robbed Chiss, the giant porcupine, of the quills which it was accustomed to throw at people. Both Dorothy and Ozma were pleased with this exploit and thought it served Chiss right.

Then they talked of the Woozy, which was the most remarkable animal any of them had ever before seen–except, perhaps, the live Sawhorse. Ozma had never known that her dominions contained such a thing as a Woozy, there being but one in existence and this being confined in his forest for many years. Dorothy said she believed the Woozy was a good beast, honest and faithful; but she added that she did not care much for the Glass Cat.

“Still,” said the Shaggy Man, “the Glass Cat is very pretty and if she were not so conceited over her pink brains no one would object to her as a companion.”

The Wizard had been eating silently until now, when he looked up and remarked:

“That Powder of Life which is made by the Crooked Magician is really a wonderful thing. But Dr. Pipt does not know its true value and he uses it in the most foolish ways.”

“I must see about that,” said Ozma, gravely. Then she smiled again and continued in a lighter tone: “It was Dr. Pipt’s famous Powder of Life that enabled me to become the Ruler of Oz.”

“I’ve never heard that story,” said the Shaggy Man, looking at Ozma questioningly.

“Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an old Witch named Mombi and transformed into a boy,” began the girl Ruler. “I did not know who I was and when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made me wait upon her and carry wood for the fire and hoe in the garden. One day she came back from a journey bringing some of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt had given her. I had made a pumpkin- headed man and set it up in her path to frighten her, for I was fond of fun and hated the Witch. But she knew what the figure was and to test her Powder of Life she sprinkled some of it on the man I had made. It came to life and is now our dear friend Jack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away with Jack to escape punishment, and I took old Mombi’s Powder of Life with me. During our journey we came upon a wooden Sawhorse standing by the road and I used the magic powder to bring it to life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever since. When I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress, Glinda, knew who I was and restored me to my proper person, when I became the rightful Ruler of this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought home the Powder of Life I might never have run away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor would we have had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to comfort and amuse us.”

That story interested the Shaggy Man very much, as well as the others, who had often heard it before. The dinner being now concluded, they all went to Ozma’s drawing-room, where they passed a pleasant evening before it came time to retire.

Chapter Eighteen

Ojo is Forgiven

The next morning the Soldier with the Green Whiskers went to the prison and took Ojo away to the royal palace, where he was summoned to appear before the girl Ruler for judgment. Again the soldier put upon the boy the jeweled handcuffs and white prisoner’s robe with the peaked top and holes for the eyes. Ojo was so ashamed, both of his disgrace and the fault he had committed, that he was glad to be covered up in this way, so that people could not see him or know who he was. He followed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers very willingly, anxious that his fate might be decided as soon as possible.

The inhabitants of the Emerald City were polite people and never jeered at the unfortunate; but it was so long since they had seen a prisoner that they cast many curious looks toward the boy and many of them hurried away to the royal palace to be present during the trial.

When Ojo was escorted into the great Throne Room of the palace he found hundreds of people assembled there. In the magnificent emerald throne, which sparkled with countless jewels, sat Ozma of Oz in her Robe of State, which was embroidered with emeralds and pearls. On her right, but a little lower, was Dorothy, and on her left the Scarecrow. Still lower, but nearly in front of Ozma, sat the wonderful Wizard of Oz and on a small table beside him was the golden vase from Dorothy’s room, into which Scraps had dropped the stolen clover.

At Ozma’s feet crouched two enormous beasts, each the largest and most powerful of its kind. Although these beasts were quite free, no one present was alarmed by them; for the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger were well known and respected in the Emerald City and they always guarded the Ruler when she held high court in the Throne Room. There was still another beast present, but this one Dorothy held in her arms, for it was her constant companion, the little dog Toto. Toto knew the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger and often played and romped with them, for they were good friends.

Seated on ivory chairs before Ozma, with a clear space between them and the throne, were many of the nobility of the Emerald City, lords and ladies in beautiful costumes, and officials of the kingdom in the royal uniforms of Oz. Behind these courtiers were others of less importance, filling the great hall to the very doors.

At the same moment that the Soldier with the Green Whiskers arrived with Ojo, the Shaggy Man entered from a side door, escorting the Patchwork Girl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat. All these came to the vacant space before the throne and stood facing the Ruler.

“Hullo, Ojo,” said Scraps; “how are you?”

“All right,” he replied; but the scene awed the boy and his voice trembled a little with fear. Nothing could awe the Patchwork Girl, and although the Woozy was somewhat uneasy in these splendid surroundings the Glass Cat was delighted with the sumptuousness of the court and the impressiveness of the occasion–pretty big words but quite expressive.

At a sign from Ozma the soldier removed Ojo’s white robe and the boy stood face to face with the girl who was to decide his punishment. He saw at a glance how lovely and sweet she was, and his heart gave a bound of joy, for he hoped she would be merciful.

Ozma sat looking at the prisoner a long time. Then she said gently:

“One of the Laws of Oz forbids anyone to pick a six-leaved clover. You are accused of having broken this Law, even after you had been warned not to do so.”

Ojo hung his head and while he hesitated how to reply the Patchwork Girl stepped forward and spoke for him.

“All this fuss is about nothing at all,” she said, facing Ozma unabashed. “You can’t prove he picked the six-leaved clover, so you’ve no right to accuse him of it. Search him, if you like, but you won’t find the clover; look in his basket and you’ll find it’s not there. He hasn’t got it, so I demand that you set this poor Munchkin boy free.”

The people of Oz listened to this defiance in amazement and wondered at the queer Patchwork Girl who dared talk so boldly to their Ruler. But Ozma sat silent and motionless and it was the little Wizard who answered Scraps.

“So the clover hasn’t been picked, eh?” he said. “I think it has. I think the boy hid it in his basket, and then gave the basket to you. I also think you dropped the clover into this vase, which stood in Princess Dorothy’s room, hoping to get rid of it so it would not prove the boy guilty. You’re a stranger here, Miss Patches, and so you don’t know that nothing can be hidden from our powerful Ruler’s Magic Picture–nor from the watchful eyes of the humble Wizard of Oz. Look, all of you!” With these words he waved his hands toward the vase on the table, which Scraps now noticed for the first time.

From the mouth of the vase a plant sprouted, slowly growing before their eyes until it became a beautiful bush, and on the topmost branch appeared the six-leaved clover which Ojo had unfortunately picked.

The Patchwork Girl looked at the clover and said: “Oh, so you’ve found it. Very well; prove he picked it, if you can.”

Ozma turned to Ojo.

“Did you pick the six-leaved clover?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I knew it was against the Law, but I wanted to save Unc Nunkie and I was afraid if I asked your consent to pick it you would refuse me.”

“What caused you to think that?” asked the Ruler.

“Why, it seemed to me a foolish law, unjust and unreasonable. Even now I can see no harm in picking a six-leaved clover. And I–I had not seen the Emerald City, then, nor you, and I thought a girl who would make such a silly Law would not be likely to help anyone in trouble.”

Ozma regarded him musingly, her chin resting upon her hand; but she was not angry. On the contrary she smiled a little at her thoughts and then grew sober again.

“I suppose a good many laws seem foolish to those people who do not understand them,” she said; “but no law is ever made without some purpose, and that purpose is usually to protect all the people and guard their welfare. As you are a stranger, I will explain this Law which to you seems so foolish. Years ago there were many Witches and Magicians in the Land of Oz, and one of the things they often used in making their magic charms and transformations was a six-leaved clover. These Witches and Magicians caused so much trouble among my people, often using their powers for evil rather than good, that I decided to forbid anyone to practice magic or sorcery except Glinda the Good and her assistant, the Wizard of Oz, both of whom I can trust to use their arts only to benefit my people and to make them happier. Since I issued that Law the Land of Oz has been far more peaceful and quiet; but I learned that some of the Witches and Magicians were still practicing magic on the sly and using the six-leaved clovers to make their potions and charms. Therefore I made another Law forbidding anyone from plucking a six-leaved clover or from gathering other plants and herbs which the Witches boil in their kettles to work magic with. That has almost put an end to wicked sorcery in our land, so you see the Law was not a foolish one, but wise and just; and, in any event, it is wrong to disobey a Law.”

Ojo knew she was right and felt greatly mortified to realize he had acted and spoken so ridiculously. But he raised his head and looked Ozma in the face, saying:

“I am sorry I have acted wrongly and broken your Law. I did it to save Unc Nunkie, and thought I would not be found out. But I am guilty of this act and whatever punishment you think I deserve I will suffer willingly.”

Ozma smiled more brightly, then, and nodded graciously.

“You are forgiven,” she said. “For, although you have committed a serious fault, you are now penitent and I think you have been punished enough. Soldier, release Ojo the Lucky and–“

“I beg your pardon; I’m Ojo the Unlucky,” said the boy.

“At this moment you are lucky,” said she. “Release him, Soldier, and let him go free.”

The people were glad to hear Ozma’s decree and murmured their approval. As the royal audience was now over, they began to leave the Throne Room and soon there were none remaining except Ojo and his friends and Ozma and her favorites.

The girl Ruler now asked Ojo to sit down and tell her all his story, which he did, beginning at the time he had left his home in the forest and ending with his arrival at the Emerald City and his arrest. Ozma listened attentively and was thoughtful for some moments after the boy had finished speaking. Then she said:

“The Crooked Magician was wrong to make the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl, for it was against the Law. And if he had not unlawfully kept the bottle of Liquid of Petrifaction standing on his shelf, the accident to his wife Margolotte and to Unc Nunkie could not have occurred. I can understand, however, that Ojo, who loves his uncle, will be unhappy unless he can save him. Also I feel it is wrong to leave those two victims standing as marble statues, when they ought to be alive. So I propose we allow Dr. Pipt to make the magic charm which will save them, and that we assist Ojo to find the things he is seeking. What do you think, Wizard?”

“That is perhaps the best thing to do,” replied the Wizard. “But after the Crooked Magician has restored those poor people to life you must take away his magic powers.”

“I will,” promised Ozma.

“Now tell me, please, what magic things must you find?” continued the Wizard, addressing Ojo.

“The three hairs from the Woozy’s tail I have,” said the boy. “That is, I have the Woozy, and the hairs are in his tail. The six-leaved clover I–I–“

“You may take it and keep it,” said Ozma. “That will not be breaking the Law, for it is already picked, and the crime of picking it is forgiven.”

“Thank you!” cried Ojo gratefully. Then he continued: “The next thing I must find is a gill of water from a dark well.”

The Wizard shook his head. “That,” said he, “will be a hard task, but if you travel far enough you may discover it.”

“I am willing to travel for years, if it will save Unc Nunkie,” declared Ojo, earnestly.

“Then you’d better begin your journey at once,” advised the Wizard.

Dorothy had been listening with interest to this conversation. Now she turned to Ozma and asked: “May I go with Ojo, to help him?”

“Would you like to?” returned Ozma.

“Yes. I know Oz pretty well, but Ojo doesn’t know it at all. I’m sorry for his uncle and poor Margolotte and I’d like to help save them. May I go?”

“If you wish to,” replied Ozma.

“If Dorothy goes, then I must go to take care of her,” said the Scarecrow, decidedly. “A dark well can only be discovered in some out-of-the-way place, and there may be dangers there.”

“You have my permission to accompany Dorothy,” said Ozma. “And while you are gone I will take care of the Patchwork Girl.”

“I’ll take care of myself,” announced Scraps, “for I’m going with the Scarecrow and Dorothy. I promised Ojo to help him find the things he wants and I’ll stick to my promise.”

“Very well,” replied Ozma. “But I see no need for Ojo to take the Glass Cat and the Woozy.”

“I prefer to remain here,” said the cat. “I’ve nearly been nicked half a dozen times, already, and if they’re going into dangers it’s best for me to keep away from them.”

“Let Jellia Jamb keep her till Ojo returns,” suggested Dorothy. “We won’t need to take the Woozy, either, but he ought to be saved because of the three hairs in his tail.”

“Better take me along,” said the Woozy. “My eyes can flash fire, you know, and I can growl–a little.”

“I’m sure you’ll be safer here,” Ozma decided, and the Woozy made no further objection to the plan.

After consulting together they decided that Ojo and his party should leave the very next day to search for the gill of water from a dark well, so they now separated to make preparations for the journey.

Ozma gave the Munchkin boy a room in the palace for that night and the afternoon he passed with Dorothy–getting acquainted, as she said–and receiving advice from the Shaggy Man as to where they must go. The Shaggy Man had wandered in many parts of Oz, and so had Dorothy, for that matter, yet neither of them knew where a dark well was to be found.

“If such a thing is anywhere in the settled parts of Oz,” said Dorothy, “we’d prob’ly have heard of it long ago. If it’s in the wild parts of the country, no one there would need a dark well. P’raps there isn’t such a thing.”

“Oh, there must be!” returned Ojo, positively; “or else the recipe of Dr. Pipt wouldn’t call for it.”

“That’s true,” agreed Dorothy; “and, if it’s anywhere in the Land of Oz, we’re bound to find it.”

“Well, we’re bound to search for it, anyhow,” said the Scarecrow. “As for finding it, we must trust to luck.”

“Don’t do that,” begged Ojo, earnestly. “I’m called Ojo the Unlucky, you know.”

Chapter Nineteen

Trouble with the Tottenhots

A day’s journey from the Emerald City brought the little band of adventurers to the home of Jack Pumpkinhead, which was a house formed from the shell of an immense pumpkin. Jack had made it himself and was very proud of it. There was a door, and several windows, and through the top was stuck a stovepipe that led from a small stove inside. The door was reached by a flight of three steps and there was a good floor on which was arranged some furniture that was quite
comfortable.

It is certain that Jack Pumpkinhead might have had a much finer house to live in had he wanted it, for Ozma loved the stupid fellow, who had been her earliest companion; but Jack preferred his pumpkin house, as it matched himself very well, and in this he was not so stupid, after all.

The body of this remarkable person was made of wood, branches of trees of various sizes having been used for the purpose. This wooden framework was covered by a red shirt–with white spots in it–blue trousers, a yellow vest, a jacket of green-and-gold and stout leather shoes. The neck was a sharpened stick on which the pumpkin head was set, and the eyes, ears, nose and mouth were carved on the skin of the pumpkin, very like a child’s jack-o’-lantern.

The house of this interesting creation stood in the center of a vast pumpkin-field, where the vines grew in profusion and bore pumpkins of extraordinary size as well as those which were smaller. Some of the pumpkins now ripening on the vines were almost as large as Jack’s house, and he told Dorothy he intended to add another pumpkin to his mansion.

The travelers were cordially welcomed to this quaint domicile and invited to pass the night there, which they had planned to do. The Patchwork Girl was greatly interested in Jack and examined him admiringly.

“You are quite handsome,” she said; “but not as really beautiful as the Scarecrow.”

Jack turned, at this, to examine the Scarecrow critically, and his old friend slyly winked one painted eye at him.

“There is no accounting for tastes,” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh. “An old crow once told me I was very fascinating, but of course the bird might have been mistaken. Yet I have noticed that the crows usually avoid the Scarecrow, who is a very honest fellow, in his way, but stuffed. I am not stuffed, you will observe; my body is good solid hickory.”

“I adore stuffing,” said the Patchwork Girl.

“Well, as for that, my head is stuffed with pumpkin-seeds,” declared Jack. “I use them for brains, and when they are fresh I am intellectual. Just now, I regret to say, my seeds are rattling a bit, so I must soon get another head.”

“Oh; do you change your head?” asked Ojo.

“To be sure. Pumpkins are not permanent, more’s the pity, and in time they spoil. That is why I grow such a great field of pumpkins–that I may select a new head whenever necessary.”

“Who carves the faces on them?” inquired the boy.

“I do that myself. I lift off my old head, place it on a table before me, and use the face for a pattern to go by. Sometimes the faces I carve are better than others–more expressive and cheerful, you know–but I think they average very well.”

Before she had started on the journey Dorothy had packed a knapsack with the things she might need, and this knapsack the Scarecrow carried strapped to his back. The little girl wore a plain gingham dress and a checked sunbonnet, as she knew they were best fitted for travel. Ojo also had brought along his basket, to which Ozma had added a bottle of “Square Meal Tablets” and some fruit. But Jack Pumpkinhead grew a lot of things in his garden besides pumpkins, so he cooked for them a fine vegetable soup and gave Dorothy, Ojo and Toto, the only ones who found it necessary to eat, a pumpkin pie and some green cheese. For beds they must use the sweet dried grasses which Jack had strewn along one side of the room, but that satisfied Dorothy and Ojo very well. Toto, of course, slept beside his little mistress.

The Scarecrow, Scraps and the Pumpkinhead were tireless and had no need to sleep, so they sat up and talked together all night; but they stayed outside the house, under the bright stars, and talked in low tones so as not to disturb the sleepers. During the conversation the Scarecrow explained their quest for a dark well, and asked Jack’s advice where to find it.

The Pumpkinhead considered the matter gravely.

“That is going to be a difficult task,” said he, “and if I were you I’d take any ordinary well and enclose it, so as to make it dark.”

“I fear that wouldn’t do,” replied the Scarecrow. “The well must be naturally dark, and the water must never have seen the light of day, for otherwise the magic charm might not work at all.”

“How much of the water do you need?” asked Jack.

“A gill.”

“How much is a gill?”

“Why–a gill is a gill, of course,” answered the Scarecrow, who did not wish to display his ignorance.

“I know!” cried Scraps. “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch–“

“No, no; that’s wrong,” interrupted the Scarecrow. “There are two kinds of gills, I think; one is a girl, and the other is–“

“A gillyflower,” said Jack.

“No; a measure.”

“How big a measure?”

“Well, I’ll ask Dorothy.”

So next morning they asked Dorothy, and she said:

“I don’t just know how much a gill is, but I’ve brought along a gold flask that holds a pint. That’s more than a gill, I’m sure, and the Crooked Magician may measure it to suit himself. But the thing that’s bothering us most, Jack, is to find the well.”

Jack gazed around the landscape, for he was standing in the doorway of his house.

“This is a flat country, so you won’t find any dark wells here,” said he. “You must go into the mountains, where rocks and caverns are.”

“And where is that?” asked Ojo.

“In the Quadling Country, which lies south of here,” replied the Scarecrow. “I’ve known all along that we must go to the mountains.”

“So have I,” said Dorothy.

“But–goodness me!–the Quadling Country is full of dangers,” declared Jack. “I’ve never been there myself, but–“

“I have,” said the Scarecrow. “I’ve faced the dreadful Hammerheads, which have no arms and butt you like a goat; and I’ve faced the Fighting Trees, which bend down their branches to pound and whip you, and had many other adventures there.”

“It’s a wild country,” remarked Dorothy, soberly, “and if we go there we’re sure to have troubles of our own. But I guess we’ll have to go, if we want that gill of water from the dark well.”

So they said good-bye to the Pumpkinhead and resumed their travels, heading now directly toward the South Country, where mountains and rocks and caverns and forests of great trees abounded. This part of the Land of Oz, while it belonged to Ozma and owed her allegiance, was so wild and secluded that many queer peoples hid in its jungles and lived in their own way, without even a knowledge that they had a Ruler in the Emerald City. If they were left alone, these creatures never troubled the inhabitants of the rest of Oz, but those who invaded their domains encountered many dangers from them.

It was a two days journey from Jack Pumkinhead’s house to the edge of the Quadling Country, for neither Dorothy nor Ojo could walk very fast and they often stopped by the wayside to rest. The first night they slept on the broad fields, among the buttercups and daisies, and the Scarecrow covered the children with a gauze blanket taken from his knapsack, so they would not be chilled by the night air. Toward evening of the second day they reached a sandy plain where walking was difficult; but some distance before them they saw a group of palm trees, with many curious black dots under them; so they trudged bravely on to reach that place by dark and spend the night under the shelter of the trees.

The black dots grew larger as they advanced and although the light was dim Dorothy thought they looked like big kettles turned upside down. Just beyond this place a jumble of huge, jagged rocks lay scattered, rising to the mountains behind them.

Our travelers preferred to attempt to climb these rocks by daylight, and they realized that for a time this would be their last night on the plains.

Twilight had fallen by the time they came to the trees, beneath which were the black, circular objects they had marked from a distance. Dozens of them were scattered around and Dorothy bent near to one, which was about as tall as she was, to examine it more closely. As she did so the top flew open and out popped a dusky creature, rising its length into the air and then plumping down upon the ground just beside the little girl. Another and another popped out of the circular, pot-like dwelling, while from all the other black objects came popping more creatures–very like jumping-jacks when their boxes are unhooked–until fully a hundred stood gathered around our little group of travelers.

By this time Dorothy had discovered they were people, tiny and curiously formed, but still people. Their skins were dusky and their hair stood straight up, like wires, and was brilliant scarlet in color. Their bodies were bare except for skins fastened around their waists and they wore bracelets on their ankles and wrists, and necklaces, and great pendant earrings.

Toto crouched beside his mistress and wailed as if he did not like these strange creatures a bit. Scraps began to mutter something about “hoppity, poppity, jumpity, dump!” but no one paid any attention to her. Ojo kept close to the Scarecrow and the Scarecrow kept close to Dorothy; but the little girl turned to the queer creatures and asked:

“Who are you?”

They answered this question all together, in a sort of chanting chorus, the words being as follows:

“We’re the jolly Tottenhots;
We do not like the day,
But in the night ’tis our delight To gambol, skip and play.

“We hate the sun and from it run,
The moon is cool and clear,
So on this spot each Tottenhot
Waits for it to appear.

“We’re ev’ry one chock full of fun, And full of mischief, too;
But if you’re gay and with us play We’ll do no harm to you.

“Glad to meet you, Tottenhots,” said the Scarecrow solemnly. “But you mustn’t expect us to play with you all night, for we’ve traveled all day and some of us are tired.”

“And we never gamble,” added the Patchwork Girl. “It’s against the Law.”

These remarks were greeted with shouts of laughter by the impish creatures and one seized the Scarecrow’s arm and was astonished to find the straw man whirl around so easily. So the Tottenhot raised the Scarecrow high in the air and tossed him over the heads of the crowd. Some one caught him and tossed him back, and so with shouts of glee they continued throwing the Scarecrow here and there, as if he had been a basket-ball.

Presently another imp seized Scraps and began to throw her about, in the same way. They found her a little heavier than the Scarecrow but still light enough to be tossed like a sofa-cushion, and they were enjoying the sport immensely when Dorothy, angry and indignant at the treatment her friends were receiving, rushed among the Tottenhots and began slapping and pushing them until she had rescued the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl and held them close on either side of her. Perhaps she would not have accomplished this victory so easily had not Toto helped her, barking and snapping at the bare legs of the imps until they were glad to flee from his attack. As for Ojo, some of the creatures had attempted to toss him, also, but finding his body too heavy they threw him to the ground and a row of the imps sat on him and held him from assisting Dorothy in her battle.

The little brown folks were much surprised at being attacked by the girl and the dog, and one or two who had been slapped hardest began to cry. Then suddenly they gave a shout, all together, and disappeared in a flash into their various houses, the tops of which closed with a series of pops that sounded like a bunch of firecrackers being exploded.

The adventurers now found themselves alone, and Dorothy asked anxiously:

“Is anybody hurt?”

“Not me,” answered the Scarecrow. “They have given my straw a good shaking up and taken all the lumps out of it. I am now in splendid condition and am really obliged to the Tottenhots for their kind treatment.”

“I feel much the same way,” said Scraps. “My cotton stuffing had sagged a good deal with the day’s walking and they’ve loosened it up until I feel as plump as a sausage. But the play was a little rough and I’d had quite enough of it when you interfered.”

“Six of them sat on me,” said Ojo, “but as they are so little they didn’t hurt me much.”

Just then the roof of the house in front of them opened and a Tottenhot stuck his head out, very cautiously, and looked at the strangers.

“Can’t you take a joke?” he asked,
reproachfully; “haven’t you any fun in you at all?”

“If I had such a quality,” replied the Scarecrow, “your people would have knocked it out of me. But I don’t bear grudges. I forgive you.”

“So do I,” added Scraps. “That is, if you behave yourselves after this.”

“It was just a little rough-house, that’s all,” said the Tottenhot. “But the question is not if we will behave, but if you will behave? We can’t be shut up here all night, because this is our time to play; nor do we care to come out and be chewed up by a savage beast or slapped by an angry girl. That slapping hurts like sixty; some of my folks are crying about it. So here’s the proposition: you let us alone and we’ll let you alone.”

“You began it,” declared Dorothy.

“Well, you ended it, so we won’t argue the matter. May we come out again? Or are you still cruel and slappy?”

“Tell you what we’ll do,” said Dorothy. “We’re all tired and want to sleep until morning. If you’ll let us get into your house, and stay there until daylight, you can play outside all you want to.”

“That’s a bargain!” cried the Tottenhot eagerly, and he gave a queer whistle that brought his people popping out of their houses on all sides. When the house before them was vacant, Dorothy and Ojo leaned over the hole and looked in, but could see nothing because it was so dark. But if the Tottenhots slept there all day the children thought they could sleep there at night, so Ojo lowered himself down and found it was not very deep.

“There’s a soft cushion all over,” said he. “Come on in.”

Dorothy handed Toto to the boy and then climbed in herself. After her came Scraps and the Scarecrow, who did not wish to sleep but preferred to keep out of the way of the mischievous Tottenhots.

There seemed no furniture in the round den, but soft cushions were strewn about the floor and these they found made very comfortable beds. They did not close the hole in the roof but left it open to admit air. It also admitted the shouts and ceaseless laughter of the impish Tottenhots as they played outside, but Dorothy and Ojo, being weary from their journey, were soon fast asleep.

Toto kept an eye open, however, and uttered low, threatening growls whenever the racket made by the creatures outside became too boisterous; and the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl sat leaning against the wall and talked in whispers all night long. No one disturbed the travelers until daylight, when in popped the Tottenhot who owned the place and invited them to vacate his premises.

Chapter Twenty

The Captive Yoop

As they were preparing to leave, Dorothy asked: “Can you tell us where there is a dark well?”

“Never heard of such a thing,” said the Tottenhot. “We live our lives in the dark, mostly, and sleep in the daytime; but we’ve never seen a dark well, or anything like one.”

“Does anyone live on those mountains beyond here?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Lots of people. But you’d better not visit them. We never go there,” was the reply.

“What are the people like?” Dorothy inquired.

“Can’t say. We’ve been told to keep away from the mountain paths, and so we obey. This sandy desert is good enough for us, and we’re not disturbed here,” declared the Tottenhot.

So they left the man snuggling down to sleep in his dusky dwelling, and went out into the sunshine, taking the path that led toward the rocky places. They soon found it hard climbing, for the rocks were uneven and full of sharp points and edges, and now there was no path at all. Clambering here and there among the boulders they kept steadily on, gradually rising higher and higher until finally they came to a great rift in a part of the mountain, where the rock seemed to have split in two and left high walls on either side.

“S’pose we go this way,” suggested Dorothy; “it’s much easier walking than to climb over the hills.”

“How about that sign?” asked Ojo.

“What sign?” she inquired.

The Munchkin boy pointed to some words painted on the wall of rock beside them, which Dorothy had not noticed. The words read:

“LOOK OUT FOR YOOP.”

The girl eyed this sign a moment and turned to the Scarecrow, asking:

“Who is Yoop; or what is Yoop?”

The straw man shook his head. Then looked at Toto and the dog said “Woof!”

“Only way to find out is to go on,” said Scraps.

This being quite true, they went on. As they proceeded, the walls of rock on either side grew higher and higher. Presently they came upon another sign which read:

“BEWARE THE CAPTIVE YOOP.”

“Why, as for that,” remarked Dorothy, “if Yoop is a captive there’s no need to beware of him. Whatever Yoop happens to be, I’d much rather have him a captive than running around loose.”

“So had I,” agreed the Scarecrow, with a nod of his painted head.

“Still,” said Scraps, reflectively:

“Yoop-te-hoop-te-loop-te-goop!
Who put noodles in the soup?
We may beware but we don’t care,
And dare go where we scare the Yoop.”

“Dear me! Aren’t you feeling a little queer, just now?” Dorothy asked the Patchwork Girl.

“Not queer, but crazy,” said Ojo. “When she says those things I’m sure her brains get mixed somehow and work the wrong way.

“I don’t see why we are told to beware the Yoop unless he is dangerous,” observed the Scarecrow in a puzzled tone.

“Never mind; we’ll find out all about him when we get to where he is,” replied the little girl.

The narrow canyon turned and twisted this way and that, and the rift was so small that they were able to touch both walls at the same time by stretching out their arms. Toto had run on ahead, frisking playfully, when suddenly he uttered a sharp bark of fear and came running back to them with his tail between his legs, as dogs do when they are frightened.

“Ah,” said the Scarecrow, who was leading the way, “we must be near Yoop.”

Just then, as he rounded a sharp turn, the Straw man stopped so suddenly that all the others bumped against him.

“What is it?” asked Dorothy, standing on tip-toes to look over his shoulder. But then she saw what it was and cried “Oh!” in a tone of astonishment.

In one of the rock walls–that at their left– was hollowed a great cavern, in front of which was a row of thick iron bars, the tops and bottoms being firmly fixed in the solid rock. Over this cavern was a big sign, which Dorothy read with much curiosity, speaking the words aloud that all might know what they said:

“MISTER YOOP–HIS CAVE

The Largest Untamed Giant in Captivity. Height, 21 Feet.–(And yet he has but 2 feet.) Weight, 1640 Pounds.–(But he waits all the time.) Age, 400 Years ‘and Up’ (as they say in the Department Store advertisements).
Temper, Fierce and Ferocious.–(Except when asleep.) Appetite, Ravenous.–(Prefers Meat People and Orange Marmalade.)

STRANGERS APPROACHING THIS CAVE DO SO AT THEIR OWN PERIL!

P.S.–Don’t feed the Giant yourself.”

“Very well,” said Ojo, with a sigh; “let’s go back.”

“It’s a long way back,” declared Dorothy.

“So it is,” remarked the Scarecrow, “and it means a tedious climb over those sharp rocks if we can’t use this passage. I think it will be best to run by the Giant’s cave as fast as we can go. Mister Yoop seems to be asleep just now.”

But the Giant wasn’t asleep. He suddenly appeared at the front of his cavern, seized the iron bars in his great hairy hands and shook them until they rattled in their sockets. Yoop was so tall that our friends had to tip their heads way back to look into his face, and they noticed he was dressed all in pink velvet, with silver buttons and braid. The Giant’s boots were of pink leather and had tassels on them and his hat was decorated with an enormous pink ostrich feather, carefully curled.

“Yo-ho!” he said in a deep bass voice; “I smell dinner.”

“I think you are mistaken,” replied the Scarecrow. “There is no orange marmalade around here.”

“Ah, but I eat other things,” asserted Mister Yoop. “That is, I eat them when I can get them. But this is a lonely place, and no good meat has passed by my cave for many years; so I’m hungry.”

“Haven’t you eaten anything in many years?” asked Dorothy.

“Nothing except six ants and a monkey. I thought the monkey would taste like meat people, but the flavor was different. I hope you will taste better, for you seem plump and tender.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be eaten,” said Dorothy.

“Why not?”

“I shall keep out of your way,” she answered.

“How heartless!” wailed the Giant, shaking the bars again. “Consider how many years it is since I’ve eaten a single plump little girl! They tell me meat is going up, but if I can manage to catch you I’m sure it will soon be going down. And I’ll catch you if I can.”

With this the Giant pushed his big arms, which looked like tree-trunks (except that tree- trunks don’t wear pink velvet) between the iron bars, and the arms were so long that they touched the opposite wall of the rock passage. Then he extended them as far as he could reach toward our travelers and found he could almost touch the Scarecrow–but not quite.

“Come a little nearer, please,” begged the Giant.

“I’m a Scarecrow.”

“A Scarecrow? Ugh! I don’t care a straw for a scarecrow. Who is that bright-colored delicacy behind you?”

“Me?” asked Scraps. “I’m a Patchwork Girl, and I’m stuffed with cotton.”

“Dear me,” sighed the Giant in a disapointed tone; “that reduces my dinner from four to two– and the dog. I’ll save the dog for dessert.”

Toto growled, keeping a good distance away.

“Back up,” said the Scarecrow to those behind him. “Let us go back a little way and talk this over.”

So they turned and went around the bend in the passage, where they were out of sight of the cave and Mister Yoop could not hear them.

“My idea,” began the Scarecrow, when they had halted, “is to make a dash past the cave, going on a run.”

“He’d grab us,” said Dorothy.

“Well, he can’t grab but one at a time, and I’ll go first. As soon as he grabs me the rest of you can slip past him, out of his reach, and he will soon let me go because I am not fit to eat.”

They decided to try this plan and Dorothy took Toto in her arms, so as to protect him. She followed just after the Scarecrow. Then came Ojo, with Scraps the last of the four. Their hearts beat a little faster than usual as they again approached the Giant’s cave, this time moving swiftly forward.

It turned out about the way the Scarecrow had planned. Mister Yoop was quite astonished to see them come flying toward him, and thrusting his arms between the bars he seized the Scarecrow in a firm grip. In the next instant he realized, from the way the straw crunched between his fingers, that he had captured the non-eatable man, but during that instant of delay Dorothy and Ojo had slipped by the Giant and were out of reach. Uttering a howl of rage the monster threw the Scarecrow after them with one hand and grabbed Scraps with the other.

The poor Scarecrow went whirling through the air and so cleverly was he aimed that he struck Ojo’s back and sent the boy tumbling head over heels, and he tripped Dorothy and sent her, also, sprawling upon the ground. Toto flew out of the little girl’s arms and landed some distance ahead, and all were so dazed that it was a moment before they could scramble to their feet again. When they did so they turned to look toward the Giant’s cave, and at that moment the ferocious Mister Yoop threw the Patchwork Girl at them.

Down went all three again, in a heap, with Scraps on top. The Giant roared so terribly that for a time they were afraid he had broken loose; but he hadn’t. So they sat in the road and looked at one another in a rather bewildered way, and then began to feel glad.

“We did it!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, with satisfaction. “And now we are free to go on our way.”

“Mister Yoop is very impolite,” declared Scraps. “He jarred me terribly. It’s lucky my stitches are so fine and strong, for otherwise such harsh treatment might rip me up the back.”

“Allow me to apologize for the Giant,” said the Scarecrow, raising the Patchwork Girl to her feet and dusting her skirt with his stuffed hands. “Mister Yoop is a perfect stranger to me, but I fear, from the rude manner in which he has acted, that he is no gentleman.”

Dorothy and Ojo laughed at this statement and Toto barked as if he understood the joke, after which they all felt better and resumed the journey in high spirits.

“Of course,” said the little girl, when they had walked a way along the passage, “it was lucky for us the Giant was caged; for, if he had happened to be loose, he–he–“

“Perhaps, in that case, he wouldn’t be hungry any more,” said Ojo gravely.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hip Hopper the Champion

They must have had good courage to climb all those rocks, for after getting out of the canyon they encountered more rock hills to be surmounted. Toto could jump from one rock to another quite easily, but the others had to creep and climb with care, so that after a whole day of such work Dorothy and Ojo found themselves very tired.

As they gazed upward at the great mass of tumbled rocks that covered the steep incline, Dorothy gave a little groan and said:

“That’s going to be a ter’ble hard climb, Scarecrow. I wish we could find the dark well without so much trouble.”

“Suppose,” said Ojo, “you wait here and let me do the climbing, for it’s on my account we’re searching for the dark well. Then, if I don’t find anything, I’ll come back and join you.”

“No,” replied the little girl, shaking her head positively, “we’ll all go together, for that way we can help each other. If you went alone, something might happen to you, Ojo.”

So they began the climb and found it indeed difficult, for a way. But presently, in creeping over the big crags, they found a path at their feet which wound in and out among the masses of rock and was quite smooth and easy to walk upon. As the path gradually ascended the mountain, although in a roundabout way, they decided to follow it.

“This must be the road to the Country of the Hoppers,” said the Scarecrow.

“Who are the Hoppers?” asked Dorothy.

“Some people Jack Pumpkinhead told me about,” he replied.

“I didn’t hear him,” replied the girl.

“No; you were asleep,” explained the Scarecrow. “But he told Scraps and me that the Hoppers and the Horners live on this mountain.”

“He said in the mountain,” declared Scraps; “but of course he meant on it.”

“Didn’t he say what the Hoppers and Horners were like?” inquired Dorothy.

“No; he only said they were two separate nations, and that the Horners were the most important.”

“Well, if we go to their country we’ll find out all about ’em,” said the girl. “But I’ve never heard Ozma mention those people, so they can’t be very important.”

“Is this mountain in the Land of Oz?” asked Scraps.

“Course it is,” answered Dorothy. “It’s in the South Country of the Quadlings. When one comes to the edge of Oz, in any direction, there is nothing more to be seen at all. Once you could see sandy desert all around Oz; but now it’s diff’rent, and no other people can see us, any more than we can see them.”

“If the mountain is under Ozma’s rule, why doesn’t she know about the Hoppers and the Horners?” Ojo asked.

“Why, it’s a fairyland,” explained Dorothy, “and lots of queer people live in places so tucked away that those in the Emerald City never even hear of ’em. In the middle of the country it’s diff’rent, but when you get around the edges you’re sure to run into strange little corners that surprise you. I know, for I’ve traveled in Oz a good deal, and so has the Scarecrow.”

“Yes,” admitted the straw man, “I’ve been considerable of a traveler, in my time, and I like to explore strange places. I find I learn much more by traveling than by staying at home.”

During this conversation they had been walking up the steep pathway and now found themselves well up on the mountain. They could see nothing around them, for the rocks beside their path were higher than their heads. Nor could they see far in front of them, because the path was so crooked. But suddenly they stopped, because the path ended and there was no place to go. Ahead was a big rock lying against the side of the mountain, and this blocked the way completely.

“There wouldn’t be a path, though, if it didn’t go somewhere,” said the Scarecrow, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.

“This is somewhere, isn’t it?” asked the Patchwork Girl, laughing at the bewildered looks of the others.

“The path is locked, the way is blocked, Yet here we’ve innocently flocked;
And now we’re here it’s rather queer There’s no front door that can be knocked.”

“Please don’t, Scraps,” said Ojo. “You make me nervous.”

“Well,” said Dorothy, “I’m glad of a little rest, for that’s a drea’ful steep path.”

As she spoke she leaned against the edge of the big rock that stood in their way. To her surprise it slowly swung backward and showed behind it a dark hole that looked like the mouth of a tunnel.

“Why, here’s where the path goes to!” she exclaimed.

“So it is,” answered the Scarecrow. “But the question is, do we want to go where the path does?”

“It’s underground; right inside the mountain,” said Ojo, peering into the dark hole. “Perhaps there’s a well there; and, if there is, it’s sure to be a dark one.”

“Why, that’s true enough!” cried Dorothy with eagerness. “Let’s go in, Scarecrow; ’cause, if others have gone, we’re pretty safe to go, too.”

Toto looked in and barked, but he did not venture to enter until the Scarecrow had bravely gone first. Scraps followed closely after the straw man and then Ojo and Dorothy timidly stepped inside the tunnel. As soon as all of them had passed the big rock, it slowly turned and filled up the opening again; but now they were no longer in the dark, for a soft, rosy light enabled them to see around them quite distinctly.

It was only a passage, wide enough for two of them to walk abreast–with Toto in between them–and it had a high, arched roof. They could not see where the light which flooded the place so pleasantly came from, for there were no lamps anywhere visible. The passage ran straight for a little way and then made a bend to the right and another sharp turn to the left, after which it went straight again. But there were no side passages, so they could not lose their way.

After proceeding some distance, Toto, who had gone on ahead, began to bark loudly. They ran around a bend to see what was the matter and found a man sitting on the floor of the passage and leaning his back against the wall. He had probably been asleep before Toto’s barks aroused him, for he was now rubbing his eyes and staring at the little dog with all his might.

There was something about this man that Toto objected to, and when he slowly rose to his foot they saw what it was. He had but one leg, set just below the middle of his round, fat body; but it was a stout leg and had a broad, flat foot at the bottom of it, on which the man seemed to stand very well. He had never had but this one leg, which looked something like a pedestal, and when Toto ran up and made a grab at the man’s ankle he hopped first one way and then another in a very active manner, looking so frightened that Scraps laughed aloud.

Toto was usually a well behaved dog, but this time he was angry and snapped at the man’s leg again and again. This filled the poor fellow with fear, and in hopping out of Toto’s reach he suddenly lost his balance and tumbled heel over head upon the floor. When he sat up he kicked Toto on the nose and made the dog howl angrily, but Dorothy now ran forward and caught Toto’s collar, holding him back.

“Do you surrender?” she asked the man.

“Who? Me?” asked the Hopper.

“Yes; you,” said the little girl.

“Am I captured?” he inquired.

“Of course. My dog has captured you,” she said.

“Well,” replied the man, “if I’m captured I must surrender, for it’s the proper thing to do. I like to do everything proper, for it saves one a lot of trouble.”

“It does, indeed,” said Dorothy. “Please tell us who you are.”

“I’m Hip Hopper–Hip Hopper, the Champion.”

“Champion what?” she asked in surprise.

“Champion wrestler. I’m a very strong man, and that ferocious animal which you are so kindly holding is the first living thing that has ever conquered me.”

“And you are a Hopper?” she continued.

“Yes. My people live in a great city not far from here. Would you like to visit it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with hesitation. “Have you any dark wells in your city?”

“I think not. We have wells, you know, but they’re all well lighted, and a well lighted well cannot well be a dark well. But there may be such a thing as a very dark well in the Horner Country, which is a black spot on the face of the earth.”

“Where is the Horner Country?” Ojo inquired.

“The other side of the mountain. There’s a fence between the Hopper Country and the Horner Country, and a gate in the fence; but you can’t pass through just now, because we are at war with the Horners.”

“That’s too bad,” said the Scarecrow. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Why, one of them made a very insulting remark about my people. He said we were lacking in understanding, because we had only one leg to a person. I can’t see that legs have anything to do with understanding things. The Horners each have two legs, just as you have. That’s one leg too many, it seems to me.”

“No,” declared Dorothy, “it’s just the right number.”

“You don’t need them,” argued the Hopper, obstinately. “You’ve only one head, and one body, and one nose and mouth. Two legs are quite unnecessary, and they spoil one’s shape.”

“But how can you walk, with only one leg?” asked Ojo.

“Walk! Who wants to walk?” exclaimed the man. “Walking is a terribly awkward way to travel. I hop, and so do all my people. It’s so much more graceful and agreeable than walking.”

“I don’t agree with you,” said the Scarecrow. “But tell me, is there any way to get to the Horner Country without going through the city of the Hoppers?”

“Yes; there is another path from the rocky lowlands, outside the mountain, that leads straight to the entrance of the Horner Country. But it’s a long way around, so you’d better come with me. Perhaps they will allow you to go through the gate; but we expect to conquer them this afternoon, if we get time, and then you may go and come as you please.”

They thought it best to take the Hopper’s advice, and asked him to lead the way. This he did in a series of hops, and he moved so swiftly in this strange manner that those with two legs had to run to keep up with him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Joking Horners

It was not long before they left the passage and came to a great cave, so high that it must have reached nearly to the top of the mountain within which it lay. It was a magnificent cave, illumined by the soft, invisible light, so that everything in it could be plainly seen. The walls were of polished marble, white with veins of delicate colors running through it, and the roof was arched and fantastic and beautiful.

Built beneath this vast dome was a pretty village–not very large, for there seemed not more than fifty houses altogether–and the dwellings were of marble and artistically designed. No grass nor flowers nor trees grew in this cave, so the yards surrounding the houses carved in designs both were smooth and bare and had low walls around them to mark their boundaries.

In the streets and the yards of the houses were many people all having one leg growing below their bodies and all hopping here and there whenever they moved. Even the children stood firmly upon their single legs and never lost their balance.

“All hail, Champion!” cried a man in the first group of Hoppers they met; “whom have you captured?”

“No one,” replied the Champion in a gloomy voice; “these strangers have captured me.”

“Then,” said another, “we will rescue you, and capture them, for we are greater in number.”

“No,” answered the Champion, “I can’t allow it. I’ve surrendered, and it isn’t polite to capture those you’ve surrendered to.”

“Never mind that,” said Dorothy. “We will give you your liberty and set you free.”

“Really?” asked the Champion in joyous tones.

“Yes,” said the little girl; “your people may need you to help conquer the Horners.”

At this all the Hoppers looked downcast and sad. Several more had joined the group by this time and quite a crowd of curious men, women and children surrounded the strangers.

“This war with our neighbors is a terrible thing,” remarked one of the women. “Some one is almost sure to get hurt.”

“Why do you say that, madam?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“Because the horns of our enemies are sharp, and in battle they will try to stick those horns into our warriors,” she replied.

“How many horns do the Horners have?” asked Dorothy.

“Each has one horn in the center of his forehead,” was the answer.

“Oh, then they’re unicorns,” declared the Scarecrow.

“No; they’re Horners. We never go to war with them if we can help it, on account of their dangerous horns; but this insult was so great and so unprovoked that our brave men decided to fight, in order to be revenged,” said the woman.

“What weapons do you fight with?” the Scarecrow asked.

“We have no weapons,” explained the Champion. “Whenever we fight the Horners, our plan is to push them back, for our arms are longer than theirs.”

“Then you are better armed,” said Scraps.

“Yes; but they have those terrible horns, and unless we are careful they prick us with the points,” returned the Champion with a shudder. “That makes a war with them dangerous, and a dangerous war cannot be a pleasant one.”

“I see very clearly,” remarked the Scarecrow, “that you are going to have trouble in conquering those Horners–unless we help you.”

“Oh!” cried the Hoppers in a chorus; “can you help us? Please do! We will be greatly obliged! It would please us very much!” and by these exclamations the Scarecrow knew that his speech had met with favor.

“How far is it to the Horner Country?” he asked.

“Why, it’s just the other side of the fence,” they answered, and the Champion added:

“Come with me, please, and I’ll show you the Horners.”

So they followed the Champion and several others through the streets and just beyond the village came to a very high picket fence, built all of marble, which seemed to divide the great cave into two equal parts.

But the part inhabited by the Horners was in no way as grand in appearance as that of the Hoppers. Instead of being marble, the walls and roof were of dull gray rock and the square houses were plainly made of the same material. But in extent the city was much larger than that of the Hoppers and the streets were thronged with numerous people who busied themselves in various ways.

Looking through the open pickets of the fence our friends watched the Horners, who did not know they were being watched by strangers, and found them very unusual in appearance. They were little folks in size and had bodies round as balls and short legs and arms. Their heads were round, too, and they had long, pointed ears and a horn set in the center of the forehead. The horns did not seem very terrible, for they were not more than six inches long; but they were ivory white and sharp pointed, and no wonder the Hoppers feared them.

The skins of the Horners were light brown, but they wore snow-white robes and were bare-footed. Dorothy thought the most striking thing about them was their hair, which grew in three distinct colors on each and every head–red, yellow and green. The red was at the bottom and sometimes hung over their eyes; then came a broad circle of yellow and the green was at the top and formed a brush-shaped top-knot.

None of the Horners was yet aware of the presence of strangers, who watched the little brown people for a time and then went to the big gate in the center of the dividing fence. It was locked on both sides and over the latch was a sign reading:

“WAR IS DECLARED”

“Can’t we go through?” asked Dorothy.

“Not now,” answered the Champion.

“I think,” said the Scarecrow, “that if I could talk with those Horners they would apologize to you, and then there would be no need to fight.”

“Can’t you talk from this side?” asked the Champion.

“Not so well,” replied the Scarecrow. “Do you suppose you could throw me over that fence? It is high, but I am very light.”

“We can try it,” said the Hopper. “I am perhaps the strongest man in my country, so I’ll undertake to do the throwing. But I won’t promise you will land on your feet.”

“No matter about that,” returned the Scarecrow. “Just toss me over and I’ll be satisfied.”

So the Champion picked up the Scarecrow and balanced him a moment, to see how much he weighed, and then with all his strength tossed him high into the air.

Perhaps if the Scarecrow had been a trifle heavier he would have been easier to throw and would have gone a greater distance; but, as it was, instead of going over the fence he landed just on top of it, and one of the sharp pickets caught him in the middle of his back and held him fast prisoner. Had he been face downward the Scarecrow might have managed to free himself, but lying on his back on the picket his hands waved in the air of the Horner Country while his feet kicked the air of the Hopper Country; so there he was.

“Are you hurt?” called the Patchwork Girl anxiously.

“Course not,” said Dorothy. “But if he wiggles that way he may tear his clothes. How can we get him down, Mr. Champion?”

The Champion shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “If he could scare Horners as well as he does crows, it might be a good idea to leave him there.”

“This is terrible,” said Ojo, almost ready to cry. “I s’pose it’s because I am Ojo the Unlucky that everyone who tries to help me gets into trouble.”

“You are lucky to have anyone to help you,” declared Dorothy. “But don’t worry. We’ll rescue the Scarecrow somehow.”

“I know how,” announced Scraps. “Here, Mr. Champion; just throw me up to the Scarecrow. I’m nearly as light as he is, and when I’m on top the fence I’ll pull our friend off the picket and toss him down to you.”

“All right,” said the Champion, and he picked up the Patchwork Girl and threw her in the same manner he had the Scarecrow. He must have used more strength this time, however, for Scraps sailed far over the top of the fence and, without being able to grab the Scarecrow at all, tumbled to the ground in the Horner Country, where her stuffed body knocked over two men and a woman and made a crowd that had collected there run like rabbits to get away from her.

Seeing the next moment that she was harmless, the people slowly returned and gathered around the Patchwork Girl, regarding her with astonishment. One of them wore a jeweled star in his hair, just above his horn, and this seemed a person of importance. He spoke for the rest of his people, who treated him with great respect.

“Who are you, Unknown Being?” he asked.

“Scraps,” she said, rising to her feet and patting her cotton wadding smooth where it had bunched up.

“And where did you come from?” he continued.

“Over the fence. Don’t be silly. There’s no other place I could have come from,” she replied.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

“You are not a Hopper,” said he, “for you have two legs. They’re not very well shaped, but they are two in number. And that strange creature on top the fence–why doesn’t he stop kicking?–must be your brother, or father, or son, for he also has two legs.”

“You must have been to visit the Wise Donkey,” said Scraps, laughing so merrily that the crowd smiled with her, in sympathy. “But that reminds me, Captain–or King–“

“I am Chief of the Horners, and my name is Jak.”

“Of course; Little Jack Horner; I might have known it. But the reason I volplaned over the fence was so I could have a talk with you about the Hoppers.”

“What about the Hoppers?” asked the Chief, frowning.

“You’ve insulted them, and you’d better beg their pardon,” said Scraps. “If you don’t, they’ll probably hop over here and conquer you.”

“We’re not afraid–as long as the gate is locked,” declared the Chief. “And we didn’t insult them at all. One of us made a joke that the stupid Hoppers couldn’t see.”

The Chief smiled as he said this and the smile made his face look quite jolly.

“What was the joke?” asked Scraps.

“A Horner said they have less understanding than we, because they’ve only one leg. Ha, ha! You see the point, don’t you? If you stand on your legs, and your legs are under you, then–ha, ha, ha!– then your legs are your under-standing. Hee, hee, hee! Ho, ho! My, but that’s a fine joke. And the stupid Hoppers couldn’t see it! They couldn’t see that with only one leg they must have less under-standing than we who have two legs. Ha, ha, ha! Hee, hee! Ho, ho!” The Chief wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes with the bottom hem of his white robe, and all the other Horners wiped their eyes on their robes, for they had laughed just as heartily as their Chief at the absurd joke.

“Then,” said Scraps, “their understanding of the understanding you meant led to the
misunderstanding.”

“Exactly; and so there’s no need for us to apologize,” returned the Chief.

“No need for an apology, perhaps, but much need for an explanation,” said Scraps decidedly. “You don’t want war, do you?”

“Not if we can help it,” admitted Jak Horner. “The question is, who’s going to explain the joke to the Horners? You know it spoils any joke to be obliged to explain it, and this is the best joke I ever heard.”

“Who made the joke?” asked Scraps.

“Diksey Horner. He is working in the mines, just now, but he’ll be home before long. Suppose we wait and talk with him about it? Maybe he’ll be willing to explain his joke to the Hoppers.”

“All right,” said Scraps. “I’ll wait, if Diksey isn’t too long.”

“No, he’s short; he’s shorter than I am. Ha, ha, ha! Say! that’s a better joke than Diksey’s. He won’t be too long, because he’s short. Hee, hee, ho!”

The other Horners who were standing by roared with laughter and seemed to like their Chief’s joke as much as he did. Scraps thought it was odd that they could be so easily amused, but decided there could be little harm in people who laughed so merrily.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Peace Is Declared

“Come with me to my dwelling and I’ll introduce you to my daughters,” said the Chief. “We’re bringing them up according to a book of rules that was written by one of our leading old bachelors, and everyone says they’re a remarkable lot of girls.”

So Scraps accompanied him along the street to a house that seemed on the outside exceptionally grimy and dingy. The streets of this city were not paved nor had any attempt been made to beautify the houses or their surroundings, and having noticed this condition Scraps was astonished when the Chief ushered her into his home.

Here was nothing grimy or faded, indeed. On the contrary, the room was of dazzling brilliance and beauty, for it was lined throughout with an exquisite metal that resembled translucent frosted silver. The surface of this metal was highly ornamented in raised designs representing men, animals, flowers and trees, and from the metal itself was radiated the soft light which flooded the room. All the furniture was made of the same glorious metal, and Scraps asked what it was.

“That’s radium,” answered the Chief. “We Horners spend all our time digging radium from the mines under this mountain, and we use it to decorate our homes and make them pretty and cosy. It is a medicine, too, and no one can ever be sick who lives near radium.”

“Have you plenty of it?” asked the Patchwork Girl.

“More than we can use. All the houses in this city are decorated with it, just the same as mine is.”

“Why don’t you use it on your streets, then, and the outside of your houses, to make them as pretty as they are within?” she inquired.

“Outside? Who cares for the outside of anything?” asked the Chief. “We Horners don’t live on the outside of our homes; we live inside. Many people are like those stupid Hoppers, who love to make an outside show. I suppose you strangers thought their city more beautiful than ours, because you judged from appearances and they have handsome marble houses and marble streets; but if you entered one of their stiff dwellings you would find it bare and uncomfortable, as all their show is on the outside. They have an idea that what is not seen by others is not important, but with us the rooms we live in are our chief delight and care, and we pay no attention to outside show.”

“Seems to me,” said Scraps, musingly, “it would be better to make it all pretty–inside and out.”

“Seems? Why, you’re all seams, my girl!” said the Chief; and then he laughed heartily at his latest joke and a chorus of small voices echoed the chorus with “tee-hee-hee! ha, ha!”

Scraps turned around and found a row of girls seated in radium chairs ranged along one wall of the room. There were nineteen of them, by actual count, and they were of all sizes from a tiny child to one almost a grown woman. All were neatly dressed in spotless white robes and had brown skins, horns on their foreheads and three-colored hair.

“These,” said the Chief, “are my sweet