The Essential Works of L. Frank Baum. L. Frank Baum
set fire to the fence and burn it up. Then he could walk away with us easily, being free.”
“Ah, I have never thought of that plan, or I would have been free long ago,” said the Woozy. “But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am very angry.”
“Can’t you get angry ‘bout something, please?” asked Ojo.
“I’ll try. You just say ‘Krizzle-Kroo’ to me.”
“Will that make you angry?” inquired the boy.
“Terribly angry.”
“What does it mean?” asked Scraps.
“I don’t know; that’s what makes me so angry,” replied the Woozy.
He then stood close to the fence, with his head near one of the boards, and Scraps called out “Krizzle-Kroo!” Then Ojo said “Krizzle-Kroo!” and the Glass Cat said “Krizzle-Kroo!” The Woozy began to tremble with anger and small sparks darted from his eyes. Seeing this, they all cried “Krizzle-Kroo!” together, and that made the beast’s eyes flash fire so fiercely that the fence-board caught the sparks and began to smoke. Then it burst into flame, and the Woozy stepped back and said triumphantly:
“Aha! That did the business, all right. It was a happy thought for you to yell all together, for that made me as angry as I have ever been. Fine sparks, weren’t they?”
“Reg’lar fireworks,” replied Scraps, admiringly.
In a few moments the board had burned to a distance of several feet, leaving an opening big enough for them all to pass through. Ojo broke some branches from a tree and with them whipped the fire until it was extinguished.
“We don’t want to burn the whole fence down,” said he, “for the flames would attract the attention of the Munchkin farmers, who would then come and capture the Woozy again. I guess they’ll be rather surprised when they find he’s escaped.”
“So they will,” declared the Woozy, chuckling gleefully. “When they find I’m gone the farmers will be badly scared, for they’ll expect me to eat up their honey-bees, as I did before.”
“That reminds me,” said the boy, “that you must promise not to eat honey-bees while you are in our company.”
“None at all?”
“Not a bee. You would get us all into trouble, and we can’t afford to have any more trouble than is necessary. I’ll feed you all the bread and cheese you want, and that must satisfy you.”
“All right; I’ll promise,” said the Woozy, cheerfully. “And when I promise anything you can depend on it, ‘cause I’m square.”
“I don’t see what difference that makes,” observed the Patchwork Girl, as they found the path and continued their journey. “The shape doesn’t make a thing honest, does it?”
“Of course it does,” returned the Woozy, very decidedly. “No one could trust that Crooked Magician, for instance, just because he is crooked; but a square Woozy couldn’t do anything crooked if he wanted to.”
“I am neither square nor crooked,” said Scraps, looking down at her plump body.
“No; you’re round, so you’re liable to do anything,” asserted the Woozy. “Do not blame me, Miss Gorgeous, if I regard you with suspicion. Many a satin ribbon has a cotton back.”
Scraps didn’t understand this, but she had an uneasy misgiving that she had a cotton back herself. It would settle down, at times, and make her squat and dumpy, and then she had to roll herself in the road until her body stretched out again.
10. Shaggy Man to the Rescue
They had not gone very far before Bungle, who had run on ahead, came bounding back to say that the road of yellow bricks was just before them. At once they hurried forward to see what this famous road looked like.
It was a broad road, but not straight, for it wandered over hill and dale and picked out the easiest places to go. All its length and breadth was paved with smooth bricks of a bright yellow color, so it was smooth and level except in a few places where the bricks had crumbled or been removed, leaving holes that might cause the unwary to stumble.
“I wonder,” said Ojo, looking up and down the road, “which way to go.”
“Where are you bound for?” asked the Woozy.
“The Emerald City,” he replied.
“Then go west,” said the Woozy. “I know this road pretty well, for I’ve chased many a honey-bee over it.”
“Have you ever been to the Emerald City?” asked Scraps.
“No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have noticed, so I haven’t mingled much in society.”
“Are you afraid of men?” inquired the Patchwork Girl.
“Me? With my heart-rending growl—my horrible, shudderful growl? I should say not. I am not afraid of anything,” declared the Woozy.
“I wish I could say the same,” sighed Ojo. “I don’t think we need be afraid when we get to the Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that Ozma, our girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and tries to help everyone who is in trouble. But they say there are many dangers lurking on the road to the great Fairy City, and so we must be very careful.”
“I hope nothing will break me,” said the Glass Cat, in a nervous voice. “I’m a little brittle, you know, and can’t stand many hard knocks.”
“If anything should fade the colors of my lovely patches it would break my heart,” said the Patchwork Girl.
“I’m not sure you have a heart,” Ojo reminded her.
“Then it would break my cotton,” persisted Scraps. “Do you think they are all fast colors, Ojo?” she asked anxiously.
“They seem fast enough when you run,” he replied; and then, looking ahead of them, he exclaimed: “Oh, what lovely trees!”
They were certainly pretty to look upon and the travelers hurried forward to observe them more closely.
“Why, they are not trees at all,” said Scraps; “they are just monstrous plants.”
That is what they really were: masses of great broad leaves which rose from the ground far into the air, until they towered twice as high as the top of the Patchwork Girl’s head, who was a little taller than Ojo. The plants formed rows on both sides of the road and from each plant rose a dozen or more of the big broad leaves, which swayed continually from side to side, although no wind was blowing. But the most curious thing about the swaying leaves was their color. They seemed to have a general groundwork of blue, but here and there other colors glinted at times through the blue—gorgeous yellows, turning to pink, purple, orange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns and grays—each appearing as a blotch or stripe anywhere on a leaf and then disappearing, to be replaced by some other color of a different shape. The changeful coloring of the great leaves was very beautiful, but it was bewildering, as well, and the novelty of the scene drew our travelers close to the line of plants, where they stood watching them with rapt interest.
Suddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and touched the Patchwork Girl. Swiftly it enveloped her in its embrace, covering her completely in its thick folds, and then it swayed back upon its stem.
“Why, she’s gone!” gasped Ojo, in amazement, and listening carefully he thought he could hear the muffled screams of Scraps coming from the center of the folded leaf. But, before he could think what he ought to do to save her, another leaf bent down and captured the Glass Cat, rolling around the little creature until she was completely hidden, and then straightening up again upon its