The Patchwork Girl of Oz - Lyman Frank Baum (best young adult book series .txt) 📗
- Author: Lyman Frank Baum
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Once more the trick river reversed its current, but this time the Scarecrow was on guard and used the pole to push the raft toward a big rock which lay in the water. He believed the rock would prevent their floating backward with the current, and so it did. They clung to this anchorage until the water resumed its proper direction, when they allowed the raft to drift on.
Floating around a bend they saw ahead a high bank of water, extending across the entire river, and toward this they were being irresistibly carried. There being no way to arrest the progress of the raft they clung fast to the logs and let the river sweep them on. Swiftly the raft climbed the bank of water and slid down on the other side, plunging its edge deep into the water and drenching them all with spray.
As again the raft righted and drifted on, Dorothy and Ojo laughed at the ducking they had received; but Scraps was much dismayed and the Scarecrow took out his handkerchief and wiped the water off the Patchwork Girl’s patches as well as he was able to. The sun soon dried her and the colors of her patches proved good, for they did not run together nor did they fade.
After passing the wall of water the current did not change or flow backward any more but continued to sweep them steadily forward. The banks of the river grew lower, too, permitting them to see more of the country, and presently they discovered yellow buttercups and dandelions growing amongst the grass, from which evidence they knew they had reached the Winkie Country.
“Don’t you think we ought to land?” Dorothy asked the Scarecrow.
“Pretty soon,” he replied. “The Tin Woodman’s castle is in the southern part of the Winkie Country, and so it can’t be a great way from here.”
Fearing they might drift too far, Dorothy and Ojo now stood up and raised the Scarecrow in their arms, as high as they could, thus allowing him a good view of the country. For a time he saw nothing he recognized, but finally he cried:
“There it is! There it is!”
“What?” asked Dorothy.
“The Tin Woodman’s tin castle. I can see its turrets glittering in the sun. It’s quite a way off, but we’d better land as quickly as we can.”
They let him down and began to urge the raft toward the shore by means of the pole. It obeyed very well, for the current was more sluggish now, and soon they had reached the bank and landed safely.
The Winkie Country was really beautiful, and across the fields they could see afar the silvery sheen of the tin castle. With light hearts they hurried toward it, being fully rested by their long ride on the river.
By and by they began to cross an immense field of splendid yellow lilies, the delicate fragrance of which was very delightful.
“How beautiful they are!” cried Dorothy, stopping to admire the perfection of these exquisite flowers.
“Yes,” said the Scarecrow, reflectively, “but we must be careful not to crush or injure any of these lilies.”
“Why not?” asked Ojo.
“The Tin Woodman is very kind-hearted,” was the reply, “and he hates to see any living thing hurt in any way.”
“Are flowers alive?” asked Scraps.
“Yes, of course. And these flowers belong to the Tin Woodman. So, in order not to offend him, we must not tread on a single blossom.”
“Once,” said Dorothy, “the Tin Woodman stepped on a beetle and killed the little creature. That made him very unhappy and he cried until his tears rusted his joints, so he couldn’t move ‘em.”
“What did he do then?” asked Ojo.
“Put oil on them, until the joints worked smooth again.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the boy, as if a great discovery had flashed across his mind. But he did not tell anybody what the discovery was and kept the idea to himself.
It was a long walk, but a pleasant one, and they did not mind it a bit. Late in the afternoon they drew near to the wonderful tin castle of the Emperor of the Winkies, and Ojo and Scraps, who had never seen it before, were filled with amazement.
Tin abounded in the Winkie Country and the Winkies were said to be the most skillful tinsmiths in all the world. So the Tin Woodman had employed them in building his magnificent castle, which was all of tin, from the ground to the tallest turret, and so brightly polished that it glittered in the sun’s rays more gorgeously than silver. Around the grounds of the castle ran a tin wall, with tin gates; but the gates stood wide open because the Emperor had no enemies to disturb him.
When they entered the spacious grounds our travelers found more to admire. Tin fountains sent sprays of clear water far into the air and there were many beds of tin flowers, all as perfectly formed as any natural flowers might be. There were tin trees, too, and here and there shady bowers of tin, with tin benches and chairs to sit upon. Also, on the sides of the pathway leading up to the front door of the castle, were rows of tin statuary, very cleverly executed. Among these Ojo recognized statues of Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, the Shaggy Man, Jack Pumpkinhead and Ozma, all standing upon neat pedestals of tin.
Toto was well acquainted with the residence of the Tin Woodman and, being assured a joyful welcome, he ran ahead and barked so loudly at the front door that the Tin Woodman heard him and came out in person to see if it were really his old friend Toto. Next moment the tin man had clasped the Scarecrow in a warm embrace and then turned to hug Dorothy. But now his eye was arrested by the strange sight of the Patchwork Girl, and he gazed upon her in mingled wonder and admiration.
The Tin Woodman was one of the most important personages in all Oz. Though Emperor of the Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all the land, and the girl and the tin man were warm personal friends. He was something of a dandy and kept his tin body brilliantly polished and his tin joints well oiled. Also he was very courteous in manner and so kind and gentle that everyone loved him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and Scraps with cordial hospitality and ushered the entire party into his handsome tin parlor, where all the furniture and pictures were made of tin. The walls were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling hung tin chandeliers.
The Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of all, where Dorothy had found the Patchwork Girl, so between them the visitors told the story of how Scraps was made, as well as the accident to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie and how Ojo had set out upon a journey to procure the things needed for the Crooked Magician’s magic charm. Then Dorothy told of their adventures in the Quadling Country and how at last they succeeded in getting the water from a dark well.
While the little girl was relating these adventures the Tin Woodman sat in an easy chair listening with intense interest, while the others sat grouped around him. Ojo, however, had kept his eyes fixed upon the body of the tin Emperor, and now he noticed that under the joint of his left knee a tiny drop of oil was forming. He watched this drop of oil with a fast-beating heart, and feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of crystal, which he held secreted in his hand.
Presently the Tin Woodman changed his position, and at once Ojo, to the astonishment of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal vial under the Emperor’s knee joint. Just then the drop of oil fell, and the boy caught it in his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then, with a red face and embarrassed manner, he rose to confront the others.
“What in the world were you doing?” asked the Tin Woodman.
“I caught a drop of oil that fell from your knee-joint,” confessed Ojo.
“A drop of oil!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman. “Dear me, how careless my valet must have been in oiling me this morning. I’m afraid I shall have to scold the fellow, for I can’t be dropping oil wherever I go.”
“Never mind,” said Dorothy. “Ojo seems glad to have the oil, for some reason.”
“Yes,” declared the Munchkin boy, “I am glad. For one of the things the Crooked Magician sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man’s body. I had no idea, at first, that there was such a thing; but it’s now safe in the little crystal vial.”
“You are very welcome to it, indeed,” said the Tin Woodman. “Have you now secured all the things you were in search of?”
“Not quite all,” answered Ojo. “There were five things I had to get, and I have found four of them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a Woozy’s tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water from a dark well and a drop of oil from a live man’s body. The last thing is the easiest of all to get, and I’m sure that my dear Unc Nunkie—and good Margolotte, as well—will soon be restored to life.”
The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and pleasure.
“Good!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “I congratulate you. But what is the fifth and last thing you need, in order to complete the magic charm?”
“The left wing of a yellow butterfly,” said Ojo. “In this yellow country, and with your kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to find.”
The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.
“Surely you are joking!” he said.
“No,” replied Ojo, much surprised; “I am in earnest.”
“But do you think for a moment that I would permit you, or anyone else, to pull the left wing from a yellow butterfly?” demanded the Tin Woodman sternly.
“Why not, sir?”
“Why not? You ask me why not? It would be cruel—one of the most cruel and heartless deeds I ever heard of,” asserted the Tin Woodman. “The butterflies are among the prettiest of all created things, and they are very sensitive to pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it exquisite torture and it would soon die in great agony. I would not permit such a wicked deed under any circumstances!”
Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too, looked grave and disconcerted, but she knew in her heart that the Tin Woodman was right. The Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his friend’s speech, so it was evident that he agreed with the Emperor’s decision. Scraps looked from one to another in perplexity.
“Who cares for a butterfly?” she asked.
“Don’t you?” inquired the Tin Woodman.
“Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart,” said the Patchwork Girl. “But I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle whom he loves, and I’d kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him to do that.”
The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.
“You have kind instincts,” he said, “and with a heart you would indeed be a fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you cannot understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for instance, have a very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful Wizard of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never—never— never permit a poor yellow butterfly to be tortured by anyone.”
“The yellow country of the
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