The Magic of Oz. Baum Lyman Frank
did you get to the island?” asked Dorothy. “Glass cats can’t swim.”
“No, but I’m not afraid of water,” was the reply. “I just walked across the river on the bottom.”
“Under the water?” exclaimed Trot.
The cat gave her a scornful look.
“How could I walk over the water on the bottom of the river? If you were transparent, anyone could see your brains were not working. But I’m sure you could never find the place alone. It has always been hidden from the Oz people.”
“But you, with your fine pink brains, could find it again, I s’pose,” remarked Dorothy.
“Yes; and if you want that Magic Flower for Ozma, I’ll go with you and show you the way.”
“That’s lovely of you!” declared Dorothy. “Trot and Cap’n Bill will go with you, for this is to be their birthday present to Ozma. While you’re gone I’ll have to find something else to give her.”
“All right. Come on, then, Cap’n,” said the Glass Cat, starting to move away.
“Wait a minute,” begged Trot. “How long will we be gone?”
“Oh, about a week.”
“Then I’ll put some things in a basket to take with us,” said the girl, and ran into the palace to make her preparations for the journey.
Ozma’s Birthday Presents
CHAPTER 6
When Cap’n Bill and Trot and the Glass Cat had started for the hidden island in the far-off river to get the Magic Flower, Dorothy wondered again what she could give Ozma on her birthday. She met the Patchwork Girl and said:
“What are you going to give Ozma for a birthday present?”
“I’ve written a song for her,” answered the strange Patchwork Girl, who went by the name of “Scraps,” and who, though stuffed with cotton, had a fair assortment of mixed brains. “It’s a splendid song and the chorus runs this way:
“I am crazy;
You’re a daisy,
Ozma dear;
I’m demented;
You’re contented,
Ozma dear;
I am patched and gay and glary;
You’re a sweet and lovely fairy;
May your birthdays all be happy,
Ozma dear!”
“How do you like it, Dorothy?” inquired the Patchwork Girl.
“Is it good poetry, Scraps?” asked Dorothy, doubtfully.
“It’s as good as any ordinary song,” was the reply. “I have given it a dandy title, too. I shall call the song: ‘When Ozma Has a Birthday, Everybody’s Sure to Be Gay, for She Cannot Help the Fact That She Was Born.’”
“That’s a pretty long title, Scraps,” said Dorothy.
“That makes it stylish,” replied the Patchwork Girl, turning a somersault and alighting on one stuffed foot. “Now-a-days the titles are sometimes longer than the songs.”
Dorothy left her and walked slowly toward the palace, where she met the Tin Woodman just going up the front steps.
“What are you going to give Ozma on her birthday?” she asked.
“It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you,” replied the Tin Woodman, who was Emperor of the Winkies. “I am having my people make Ozma a lovely girdle set with beautiful tin nuggets. Each tin nugget will be surrounded by a circle of emeralds, just to set it off to good advantage. The clasp of the girdle will be pure tin! Won’t that be fine?”
“I’m sure she’ll like it,” said Dorothy. “Do you know what I can give her?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Dorothy. It took me three months to think of my own present for Ozma.”
The girl walked thoughtfully around to the back of the palace, and presently came upon the famous Scarecrow of Oz, who was having two of the palace servants stuff his legs with fresh straw.
“What are you going to give Ozma on her birthday?” asked Dorothy.
“I want to surprise her,” answered the Scarecrow.
“I won’t tell,” promised Dorothy.
“Well, I’m having some straw slippers made for her – all straw, mind you, and braided very artistically. Ozma has always admired my straw filling, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased with these lovely straw slippers.”
“Ozma will be pleased with anything her loving friends give her,” said the girl. “What I’m worried about, Scarecrow, is what to give Ozma that she hasn’t got already.”
“That’s what worried me, until I thought of the slippers,” said the Scarecrow. “You’ll have to think, Dorothy; that’s the only way to get a good idea. If I hadn’t such wonderful brains, I’d never have thought of those straw foot-decorations.”
Dorothy left him and went to her room, where she sat down and tried to think hard. A Pink Kitten was curled up on the window-sill and Dorothy asked her:
“What can I give Ozma for her birthday present?”
“Oh, give her some milk,” replied the Pink Kitten; “that’s the nicest thing I know of.”
A fuzzy little black dog had squatted down at Dorothy’s feet and now looked up at her with intelligent eyes.
“Tell me, Toto,” said the girl; “what would Ozma like best for a birthday present?”
The little black dog wagged his tail.
“Your love,” said he. “Ozma wants to be loved more than anything else.”
“But I already love her, Toto!”
“Then tell her you love her twice as much as you ever did before.”
“That wouldn’t be true,” objected Dorothy, “for I’ve always loved her as much as I could, and, really, Toto, I want to give Ozma some present, ’cause everyone else will give her a present.”
“Let me see,” said Toto. “How would it be to give her that useless Pink Kitten?”
“No, Toto; that wouldn’t do.”
“Then six kisses.”
“No; that’s no present.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to figure it out for yourself, Dorothy,” said the little dog. “To my notion you’re more particular than Ozma will be.”
Dorothy decided that if anyone could help her it would be Glinda the Good, the wonderful Sorceress of Oz who was Ozma’s faithful subject and friend. But Glinda’s castle was in the Quadling Country and quite a journey from the Emerald City.
So the little girl went to Ozma and asked permission to use the Wooden Sawhorse and the royal Red Wagon to pay a visit to Glinda, and the girl Ruler kissed Princess Dorothy and graciously granted permission.
The Wooden Sawhorse was one of the most remarkable creatures in Oz. Its body was a small log and its legs were limbs of trees stuck in the body. Its eyes were knots, its mouth was sawed in the end of the log and its ears were two chips. A small branch had been left at the rear end of the log to serve as a tail.
Ozma herself, during one of her early adventures, had brought this wooden horse to life, and so she was much attached to the queer animal and had shod the bottoms of its wooden legs with plates of gold so they would not wear out. The sawhorse was a swift and willing traveler, and though it could talk if need arose, it seldom said anything unless spoken to. When the Sawhorse was harnessed to the Red Wagon there were no reins to guide him because all