LITMIR.BIZ

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won’t work. The book doesn’t say ‘blood’; it says ‘oil,’ and there must be oil somewhere in a live man’s body or the book wouldn’t ask for it.”

      “All right,” returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; “I’ll try to find it.”

      The Magician looked at the little Munchkin boy in a doubtful way and said:

      “All this will mean a long journey for you; perhaps several long journeys; for you must search through several of the different countries of Oz in order to get the things I need.”

      “I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save Unc Nunkie.”

      “And also my poor wife Margolotte. If you save one you will save the other, for both stand there together and the same compound will restore them both to life. Do the best you can, Ojo, and while you are gone I shall begin the six years job of making a new batch of the Powder of Life. Then, if you should unluckily fail to secure any one of the things needed, I will have lost no time. But if you succeed you must return here as quickly as you can, and that will save me much tiresome stirring of four kettles with both feet and both hands.”

      “I will start on my journey at once, sir,” said the boy.

      “And I will go with you,” declared the Patchwork Girl.

      “No, no!” exclaimed the Magician. “You have no right to leave this house. You are only a servant and have not been discharged.”

      Scraps, who had been dancing up and down the room, stopped and looked at him.

      “What is a servant?” she asked.

      “One who serves. A—a sort of slave,” he explained.

      “Very well,” said the Patchwork Girl, “I’m going to serve you and your wife by helping Ojo find the things you need. You need a lot, you know, such as are not easily found.”

      “It is true,” sighed Dr. Pipt. “I am well aware that Ojo has undertaken a serious task.”

      Scraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:

      “Here’s a job for a boy of brains:

      A drop of oil from a live man’s veins;

      A six-leaved clover; three nice hairs

      From a Woozy’s tail, the book declares

      Are needed for the magic spell,

      And water from a pitch-dark well.

      The yellow wing of a butterfly

      To find must Ojo also try,

      And if he gets them without harm,

      Doc Pipt will make the magic charm;

      But if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc

      Will always stand a marble chunk.”

      The Magician looked at her thoughtfully.

      “Poor Margolotte must have given you some of the quality of poesy, by mistake,” he said. “And, if that is true, I didn’t make a very good article when I prepared it, or else you got an overdose or an underdose. However, I believe I shall let you go with Ojo, for my poor wife will not need your services until she is restored to life. Also I think you may be able to help the boy, for your head seems to contain some thoughts I did not expect to find in it. But be very careful of yourself, for you’re a souvenir of my dear Margolotte. Try not to get ripped, or your stuffing may fall out. One of your eyes seems loose, and you may have to sew it on tighter. If you talk too much you’ll wear out your scarlet plush tongue, which ought to have been hemmed on the edges. And remember you belong to me and must return here as soon as your mission is accomplished.”

      “I’m going with Scraps and Ojo,” announced the Glass Cat.

      “You can’t,” said the Magician.

      “Why not?”

      “You’d get broken in no time, and you couldn’t be a bit of use to the boy and the Patchwork Girl.”

      “I beg to differ with you,” returned the cat, in a haughty tone. “Three heads are better than two, and my pink brains are beautiful. You can see ‘em work.”

      “Well, go along,” said the Magician, irritably. “You’re only an annoyance, anyhow, and I’m glad to get rid of you.”

      “Thank you for nothing, then,” answered the cat, stiffly.

      Dr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard and packed several things in it. Then he handed it to Ojo.

      “Here is some food and a bundle of charms,” he said. “It is all I can give you, but I am sure you will find friends on your journey who will assist you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork Girl and bring her safely back, for she ought to prove useful to my wife. As for the Glass Cat—properly named Bungle—if she bothers you I now give you my permission to break her in two, for she is not respectful and does not obey me. I made a mistake in giving her the pink brains, you see.”

      Then Ojo went to Unc Nunkie and kissed the old man’s marble face very tenderly.

      “I’m going to try to save you, Unc,” he said, just as if the marble image could hear him; and then he shook the crooked hand of the Crooked Magician, who was already busy hanging the four kettles in the fireplace, and picking up his basket left the house.

      The Patchwork Girl followed him, and after them came the Glass Cat.

      6. The Journey

       Table of Contents

      Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew that the path down the mountainside led into the open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of people dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not supposed to know anything of the Land of Oz, while the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very far away from the Magician’s house. There was only one path before them, at the beginning, so they could not miss their way, and for a time they walked through the thick forest in silent thought, each one impressed with the importance of the adventure they had undertaken.

      Suddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was funny to see her laugh, because her cheeks wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button eyes twinkled and her mouth curled at the corners in a comical way.

      “Has something pleased you?” asked Ojo, who was feeling solemn and joyless through thinking upon his uncle’s sad fate.

      “Yes,” she answered. “Your world pleases me, for it’s a queer world, and life in it is queerer still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and intended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered free as air by an accident that none of you could foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world, while the woman who made me is standing helpless as a block of wood. If that isn’t funny enough to laugh at, I don’t know what is.”

      “You’re not seeing much of the world yet, my poor, innocent Scraps,” remarked the Cat. “The world doesn’t consist wholly of the trees that are on all sides of us.”

      “But they’re part of it; and aren’t they pretty trees?” returned Scraps, bobbing her head until her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze. “Growing between them I can see lovely ferns and wildflowers, and soft green mosses. If the rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be glad I’m alive.”

      “I don’t know what the rest of the world is like, I’m sure,” said the cat; “but I mean to find out.”

      “I have never been out of the forest,” Ojo added; “but to me the trees are gloomy and sad and the wildflowers seem lonesome. It must be nicer where there are no trees and there is room for lots of people to live together.”

      “I wonder if any of the people we shall meet will be as splendid as I am,” said the Patchwork Girl. “All I have seen, so far, have

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